


Hacker: R-L

by girl1213



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Colonial era, Developing Relationship, Experimental Style, F/M, Intenative Secret Relationship, POV First Person, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:59:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 51,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl1213/pseuds/girl1213
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is is a research analyst working for Abstergo Entertainment. Her job: analyze Edward Kenway. Her secret mission: discover Abstergo's secrets, while staying alive and trying not to fall in love in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doubt's Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R-L is a real Assassin's Creed character. R-L is the modern-day player of Assassin's Creed IV. R-L can either be male or female, but in this story R-L is female. Why? Well…find out for yourself. 
> 
> And no, this R-L is NOT me so don't ask. As such, any views here are ARE NOT my true personal views. R-L is a fictional character!
> 
> Currently R-L is unnamed but her name WILL come up.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything – Everything Assassin's Creed belongs to Ubisoft. Heck, I barely own R-L.

"Thank you!" I waved my new boss, Melanie Lemay, goodbye. I put my new communicator pad down on my new desk as I turn in my new comfy desk chair to my Animus computer.

This whole place stank. Not of garbage, but of falseness. It lingers like a thick mist of smog in the air of this place. It's too perfect.

According to the Ads, Abstergo wants to give both its employees and its costumers everything so we can want for nothing. But it all feels false, like some kind of performance. When I look around at the co-workers, I sense disquiet.

Why?

Where did this all begin?

When I feel so…

Doubtful?

Yes, I've been feeling doubt. About what you may ask?

My whole world.

I was born in the 90s. I can remember those days when computers and their software had a presence, but not an overwhelming certainty, in people's lives. In fact, it wasn't until after 9/11 I knew what the Internet was and got seduced into it. That's what happens when you learn that your brother living in New York City is suddenly gone forever. And for no reason other than he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But I was always told by my parents to be careful with it. You never know who is watching you over the Internet and whether or not what's on the Internet is the truth.

"The 'net is like TV," my father cautioned me, "You can't believe everything you see to be true."

Wish I had listened.

For a guy born in the chaotic 60s, Dad is a hell of a wise man. Wonder what he would think if he knew what I do now.

Probably tell me that he told me so.

He told me not to get involved in that game. Said it was full of...inaccuracies we'll say.

Okay, let's start at the beginning…

September 30, 2010: that's when it began.

The starting point: Project Legacy.

I was teenage kid right out of high school, looking for a job because her parents wanted to, and I quote, "get off my lazy bottom" since I refused to go to college like they did...like responsible and mature kids did. I wanted to have fun. I loved my computer and my game consoles. I loved the Internet and all its open vastness and continue growth. I was a kid in the candy store going through the websites; learning, playing games, reading, you name it. The Internet was an ocean, and my consoles were my ships and I was the Captain of them all. The websites were the islands, and their contents were my treasure to plunder.

What could college give me that the Internet could not provide?

I wanted to stay and play because then I would have an easy life. There was nothing to worry about when I was emerged in the Internet. I didn't want the responsibility, or hurdles, that real life gives you. I just…wanted to have fun.

Stupid, stupid.

Abstergo Industries threw me the perfect bait. A job ad appeared in my e-mail one day. It talked about this new software, Data Dump Scanner, or DDS, kind of like software of a Nintendo DS or DS3, but much more sophisticated and advanced. Anyway, Abstergo was looking for young people to try out this software and get paid good money for it.

Of course I leapt at the chance. Without my parents knowing, I downloaded the software onto my laptop.

Who would have thought that it would be the beginning of a major eye-opener?

Anyway, even with the software now on my laptop, according to the fine, I boy I mean fine, print at the bottom of the AD, recruitment of Project Legacy was not like drawing names out of a hat. To be chosen was like a one in a million because Abstergo was looking for very precise details about the recruit's blood lineage. They were looking for those who could handle the project's Animus machines without going bonkers. I suppose they wanted to limited the amount of "security leaks." If the world knew about any negative threats when involved with the Animus, then Abstergo would be facing a crisis.

'course, I didn't know any of this at the time.

Let it be said I went crazy on how excited I was when I got the e-mail that I was chosen to be a part of this project. I was deemed worthy. I was euphoric! My first step toward an easy, fun, happy life had been taken and my life was underway.

My parents...

God, I can never forget the look in their eyes. They weren't in on my euphoria, and for good reason.

My parents were good, honest, hard-working folks who had to raise five kids without the support of their parents. They worked long hours and weekends to give my brothers and I a good home, good food, good schools, you name it. Even when they lost their eldest, they persevered. They mourned their son, but forced themselves to continue living on, espcially when my first niece, Mariana, came into the world not six months after the tragedy.

Me? I disappeared into the Internet.

Again ANYWAY, my folks and I had a row. A bad one at that. It ended with me packing my bags and making my way to New York. I stayed with Mariana's mother, my deceased brother's former girlfriend. I guess the only reason she took me in was because she needed someone at home to watch and take care of Mariana, who was almost eight and half years old at the time, while she worked extra shifts at some bar called Bad Weather. Because Abstergo allowed me to work at home in the apartment, it was a hand-in-hand deal. Besides, I love my niece.

Between taking Mariana to school, getting her home safely, feeding her, helping her with homework, playing with her, I was on my computer doing my "research" for Abstergo and answering their surveys. But looking back, but I think that they were more interested in how I responded to the questions, rather than wether my answers were correct.

For example, "History is accurate."

My response: "History is only as accurate as the author of the book."

Their back response: "What if you could meet the author of the book? Observe a battle from either side? This is why you are so important to our project. By reliving actual memories, you will help us uncover the truth. Together, our team will rewrite history."

Then there was: "I have Italian ancestors."

While I was typing my answer, I got another e-mail. But not for Abstergo. No, the name was "Erudito." I would have no idea how familiar I would become with that name. (I don't know if Erudito is male or female, I called Erudito "They")

They were warning me: " _Careful... I'm all for sticking it to Abstergo, but open defiance will get you cut off._ "

What did that mean? It's not like I could offer Abstergo my genealogy. I never did any research on my own bloodline before and I told them so. I didn't expect them to say that they would help me. All I had to do was go to the nearest Abstergo office and I would be provided with a "quick and relatively painless" genetic test. They went on to say that each person contains valuable knowledge passed along through something called genetic memory, and that perhaps I held within my blood answers to some of history's greatest mysteries.

Propaganda.

After I sent my e-mail, Erudito responded back: " _You offered Abstergo a list of your ancestors? I'd avoid sending them that list, if I were you. Haven't you wondered where they farm memories for the DDS?_ "

A big question mark must have appeared floating over my head that night. But I deleted Erudito's messages. Probably just junk mail, was my thought.

Right. Junk.

And yet, I didn't go take that genetic test. I chalked it up by telling myself that I was too busy watching and taking care of Mariana.


	2. Enter Havana...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R-L enters the Animus...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything – Everything Assassin's Creed belongs to Ubisoft. I barely own R-L.  
> Any feedback, encouragement, suggestions or thoughts are welcome. They help story improvement and lets me know what the readers are looking for.

I put the visor over my eyes and flick on the switch, activating the HUD. I'm taking to the Loading Screen where I see Edward, dressed in Duncan Walpole's clothes, standing or floating amongst an artificial sea of light and data, rotating slowly around. In my ear, I hear a synchronized female voice.

"Welcome to Animus Omega, Abstergo Entertainment's proprietary Ancestral Memory Research tool," the computer voice said, "If you have any questions, comments or concerns about how to operate your Animus console, please contact your Project Supervisor, Melanie Lemay. You have been registered as part of the SAMPLE 17 project. Your primary research target is Edward James Kenway. Born March 10, 1693. Swansea, Wales. Calibrations complete. All signs normal, all systems optimal. Extra-neural Transmitters activated."

And then I was standing next to him, unseen by him and everyone else, yet right there, connected to him. I could feel him as surely as he was me; as if we were one and the same. It was so unlike my previous experiences with Bartolomeo d'Alviano, Franceso Vecellio, Mario Auditore, Perotto Calderon, Fiora Cavazza and Giovanni Borgia in Project Legacy. I wasn't connected to them like I was Edward. If anything I was like someone peering through a window into someone else's life.

Awed to watch, but detached in personal feeling.

With Edward, I could almost feel his emotions and understand his thoughts to a point. We were still two separate people, but we were linked now; almost seamlessly.

And yet, he was still a big mystery to me.

Edward is a pirate, yet I sense something about him that stands out; like there is more to him than just a being a pirate.

Odd.

I didn't get this impression from him while I was in the Testing Animus Model, supervised by Melanie.

In that Animus, I witnessed his coolheaded and fearlessness demeanor amidst a naval battle. I saw his memory of his wife, and learned how he wanted to gain fortune for himself…for her as well I think.

And I suspect a broken promise to her.

Yet he felt so cold, detached, like he was trying to keep that memory out of his front most thoughts.

Then I witnessed him kill Duncan Walpole. Granted, Walpole threatened him first, but I had no idea how truly merciless pirates could be. At least, Edward wasn't sadist; he killed Duncan cleanly and didn't gloat or howl in victory.

No, Edward was calm, cool, almost like, to him, this was a common occurrence. Yeesh.

But it still didn't come to surprise to me that the reason he killed Duncan was for his reward money, not because Duncan threatened him with death.

Which is why we were in Havana: to collect Duncan's reward in his place since the note on Duncan's, now deceased, person said, that the ones giving Duncan the money would only recognize him by his outfit, not his face.

So an easy job.

Why do I get this sinking feeling that it is never that easy?

* * *

_**Havana Cuba, July, 1715** _

As I waited for Edward to finish helping Bonnet unload some of his cargo from the schooner, I did a quick check through the Animus Database. According to the data, this place is Havana, the major port and capital of the island country of Cuba in the Caribbean Sea. I heard of this place before, in pirate movies and games. I never thought I actually would see it for what it truly is.

And right now, for Edward, it's enemy territory. The Spanish have a strong presence here and they hate pirates more than they hate their former enemies: the British. I found myself looking around for wanted posters.

A flash-rogue like Edward had to be cautious too.

"It's mad to think Spain and England were at war two years ago, isn't it?" Bonnet stated to Edward, who had just handed a crate over to one of Bonnet's crewman. For a moment, I was wondering why Bonnet was ignoring me as I was standing right next to him. Then I remembered…

"I'm no better than a ghost," I said out loud even though no one here could hear me, "They can't hear me, they can't see me."

Bonnet continued on without interruption, "Here I am battering with Spaniards like they were my cousins."

I saw a look cross over Edward's face. He didn't share Bonnet's more optimistic view. And why wouldn't he?

According to the data, a little over two years ago, Edward came to the West Indies to pursued his dreams of being a privateer. He intended to sail under a renowned privateer known as Benjamin Hornigold. But then the Treaty of Utrecht was made not six months later. The treat had effectively ended all conflict between the major empires. While the treaty created peace in the West Indies, it left privateers like Edward without work as privateers were no longer needed or tolerated.

No wonder he became a pirate.

"Something wrong, Duncan?" Apparently Bonnet noticed Edward's grim look as well, but unlike me, Bonnet had no way to know why.

As quickly as it appeared, the look was gone when Edward realized he was betraying his true feelings. "No. It's nothing. Sand in my hampers," Edward assured Bonnet smoothly.

"Sand in your hampers?" I said out load again even though I knew I was going to be ignored, "Yeah, right."

"So where's the best squat in town?" Edward asked the merchant, "I'm dying for a quick kip. Or a siesta, should I say?"

"You want to take a nap?!" I exclaimed to Edward's deaf ears. "Now?! I thought you were her e for your reward money!"

Bonnet hefted a slightly heavy crate into his arms. "Um…I' just headed to a…public house now to meet some merchants. I could…" He paused to get a better grip on his crate. "I could show you the way."

"Well, lead on," Edward said, waving his arm toward the end of dock.

As we started to walk down the pier, Edward put his hood up.

"Well," I said to his back, "Seems like you do have some brains."

What is it about this guy that's making me act like this?


	3. In-Synchronization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R-L gets super embrassed, then experiences synchronization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything – Everything Assassin's Creed belongs to Ubisoft. I barely own R-L.  
> Any feedback, encouragement, suggestions or thoughts are welcome. They help story improvement and lets me know what the readers are looking for.

If it were physically possible, my jaw would hit the ground at the site I was seeing and not in a pleasant way.

Two cages—gibbets, I think they're called—hanging on a post that looked too much like a gallows for my taste on the pier's end. In those two cages were skeletons…real, creepy, bony, and gnawed on skeletons…in cages…with a sign saying "Pirates Beware" in black paint.

Apparently, those scenes in pirate movies when the pirate hero enters a harbor and sees skeletons hanging in gibbets or nooses, with a sign saying "Pirates Beware" or "Pirates Take Warning" was a real honest true fact. Hollywood did not make that one up.

Dammit...

Next to me, Bonnet shuddered and his normally rosy red cheeks turned pale. "Gracious! What a revolting sight!"

Even Edward seemed a bit green when I glanced over at him, but because of the hood, I couldn't be sure, yet his voice was steady and matter-of-fact. "Well they don't take kindly to pirates here, do they?" he said, "Wonder how many stolen reales bought these men this perch?"

It was actually a good question. I knew it wouldn't have taken much. I heard that more-of-then-not, no matter how much, or how little, a pirate steals from a ship, they were more than likely executed instead of given, say…a lifetime prison sentence. I guess it was because the ones in charge wanted to send a message to any other remaining pirate out there.

Either obey the law or die.

Fear of death is a good motivator to get anyone to behave.

Bonnet turned away from the gibbets and moved a rapid pace down the rest of the length of the pier. Edward and I were easily able to keep up. Now, I think Edward wants to get away from the sight of his dead fellow-man pirates, just as much as Bonnet and I wanted to get away from the grim reality of what often happened to unfortunate pirates.

I guess Edward really does take the danger of himself being here in enemy territory seriously.

Damn, I feel like an idiot. It's too early for me to be criticizing Edward this harshly and without all the facts. I see now that the whole "siesta" thing not one minute before must have been part of his undercover act for Bonnet. I mean, I'm the only one here who truly knows who Edward is and what did before meeting up with Bonnet and what his real intentions here in Havana are.

And it's not like I can tell anyone in the Animus.

Here I'm an invisible, mute, ghost: a spectator without any influence of what's going on around me.

"Huh?"

So caught up in my thoughts, I didn't realize Edward had stopped until I passed through him. Static crackled in my ears and my vision was filled with streams of data for a second until I was now in front of him. I turned around to look up at him to see if there was something wrong.

His head was turned to the side, looking at something. I turned my head to look as well, following his gaze.

A group of four dancers?

_"¡Hola_ ladies," Edward greeted, his voice so friendly that it could not have been feigned. It sounded too sincere to be part of his disguise.

Oh…

Well, Edward's an admirer of the ladies.

I guess it helps that those women are dancing rather nicely near the pier. I bet they are a nice sight for sailors who haven't had women companions in months, especially with the hint of leg peeking out of the slits in the skirts.

With a smile towards the small group of dancers, Edward resumed his walking pace. Not wanting to go ghostly through him again, I stepped out of the way and followed after him.

Bonnet was only a few yards away, having stopped to wait for Edward, and unknown to the both of them, me, to catch back up.

"You don't know these women, do you?" the merchant asked, now leading Edward and I into the town.

"No," Edward answered, falling back into step with Bonnet, "They charge money for that kind of privilege. Few dozen reales for every hour of knowing."

What?

Waaaaait a minute….

I looked back over my shoulder at the dancers.

…

…

… (O_O)

Those **are not** dancers!

* * *

I groaned loudly into the old wood I laid my face upon.

Thank god for Bonnet and his marriage priorities!

I don't think I can handle seeing an 18th century "birds and the bees" thank you. Especially not on my first day on the job!

Although no one could see my intense blush or hear my exaggerated groans of displeasure, I buried my face into my arms as I lean into the counter of a weapon purveyor's shop/shack anyway as I waited, my ears listening for Bonnet and Edward to complete their purchases for a dagger and a sword right next to me, whilst pressing my face hard against the wood.

Really, what was I expecting? I should have known that I would be witnessing something like that thing with the dancers eventually.

Edward, married as he is, a monogamist? Pah-lease!

He's a pirate! Pirates love women, especially that kind!

Ugh…

This is the reason why I always had to keep chasing Mariana out of the living room whenever her mother and I were watching a high-rated movie, of pirates or otherwise. I love my niece to death, but she always walked in on us watching rated R movies!

Heck, this is why whenever **_I_** was watching said R-rated movie alone, I always pressed skip forward whenever the "man" and the "lady" were getting too hot under the collar.

I can handle the swearing, fake guts and blood, violent and entirely feasible ways to kill a person, the destruction of property, zombies, aliens, and machine guns blazing, but I draw the line at THAT.

It is bad enough I have to be a first-account witness to Edward's killing and robbing sprees. I refuse to add THAT to the list I have to suffer through with him!

Ugh…I got to find where the fast forward button is on this Animus before I witnessed Edward getting too hot under the collar. Hopefully before my lunch break.

Actually, now that I think about it, how long have I been in the Animus now? I can't tell real time when I'm in here.

Hmm? Ah! Edward seems to have finally selected his new sword. I raise my head up from the nest my arms made and glanced down at his hoister where he would place his newly purchased sword.

Correction: Swords. Two. He's decided to replace both old swords.

Well, why not? The purveyor offered to cut down the price for the new swords if Edward traded the old ones away.

A good bargain I should say, especially since the new swords are British cutlasses; a light kind of sword that was made popular by privateers. It would help with Edward's disguise too, since he had told Bonnet that he was a privateer.

Speaking of Bonnet, he was waiting for Edward at the entrance of a church just across the way from the weapon vender's shack. I scurried on over to him to him while Edward took a slower leisurely pace.

Upon reaching Bonnet, I noticed he was looking around, perplexed.

"That's a better fit for me," Edward said, giving his new cutlasses a loving pat on the handle, "How'd you fare?"

"Oh, I had only enough for a small knife sadly," Bonnet answered, still looking around. "Still, it'll do in a pinch. Oh, puffer-duff..."

He let out a huff, or maybe it was a sigh, before looking back at Edward with an embarrassed and apologetic look. "I have led us astray, Duncan."

I dropped my forehead into my palm and then dragged my hand down my face. "Oh great," I said, "What's next?"

When I looked up, I was no longer standing next to the two sea-fearing men. No, I was about a head taller, a couple pounds heavier, wearing a hood and I was looking up, scrutinizing the church's bell tower for a few moments. When I opened my mouth to speak, it was not my own voice, but Edward's that came out.

I was in synchronization with Edward.

"Oh, no matter," I/Edward said, "I'll get us a better view. What are we looking for?"

I can't really explain synchronization, because I don't really understand what it really is, or even why it only seems to only happen when Edward is doing, or is about to do, something physically extraordinary, such as fighting or climbing. Even Melanie was vague on the description. But to put in the best terms that I can explain…

Edward and I become one single entity.

Sure, I'm still aware of myself, but now I have Edward in my awareness as well.

Got it? No? Don't worry; I don't quite get it myself.

But while I could see through Edward's eyes, sense, almost hear, his thoughts, smelt what he could smell, listen through his ears, I was completely at his mercy. He was in control. These were his memories…his world…his reality…

Anything he did, I would have a front row seat to. At least, when out of synchronization with him, I can look away when Edward does something I would dislike.

But, through his eyes, I had seen him kill Duncan Wapole as surely as if it were I who put the sword through the assassin's throat.

I can't do a thing to stop him, or look away.

I was…helpless…

And it's scary...


	4. A Ghost's Aversion

I looked down disgusted at the new dead body at my feet.

Edward had killed again, but not someone who should be classified as a major enemy.

This dead man was a lowly mugger, someone who had fallen on hard times, without a dime—or, in this time, is it a copper?—to his name. He had robbed Bonnet of his purse while the merchant was too distracted by his amazement and awe of Edward's admiringly outstanding climbing feat up the church bell tower. He didn't harm Bonnet, merely grabbed and shook him, before shoving him away and called him a "gordo," which I believe is Spanish for "fatman," scaring the poor gentle man badly.

We, Edward and I, still locked in synchronization, could hear what was going on from up there in the bell tower. We looked down; saw what was going on, I hear Edward telling Bonnet to hang on, before the jerk leapt, I repeat LEAPT, out of the tower, taking me with him since I was still trapped within him. I'm not ashamed to say that I screamed my head off, even though I was only one who could hear it.

By all intents and purposes, Edward should have been dead when we…he… ** _we_** hit that parked cart and landed in the straw. I should have felt Edward's bones break, or a sharp blow to his head, or something. But I didn't. Amazingly, all I felt was breath knocked out the lungs for a few moments, before Edward quickly got to his feet, jumped out the cart, and started chasing the mugger.

Even more amazing was Edward still had enough breath to threaten the thief.

The mugger was fast, and knew the city's streets better than Edward did. He did everything he could to lose, or at least, slow Edward down. The thief knocked over people, turned sharp corners, cut through small crowds of people, and to my amazement, climbed the buildings and ran through the rooftops.

But Edward, heavy as was with his muscular stature and heavy clothes and two swords, was just as nimble, just as I had first witnessed back on that island in the Cape Bonavista where Edward had killed Duncan Walpole and then again at the bell tower.

It amazed me enough to forget about how uncomfortable I was as a passenger in Edward's skin. How could I feel fear when the wind was blowing in my ears and I could feel Edward's strength and energy with every step we took? I felt no pain or strain of tired muscles, or pulls or lack of breath. In fact, the energy felt like it could last a lifetime.

In my time, I could never hope to reach this level of physical fitness. It was amazing.

Although the chase seemed to last for long time for me, Edward did manage to caught up and tackle the thief while on the rooftops. As both Edward and the mugger got to their feet, I had expected Edward to either snatch the purse back then leave, or maybe rough the mugger up before grabbing the purse and leaving.

I had not expected Edward to draw out cutlasses, causing the mugger to pull out his own rusty weapon, his eyes wild with fear. That is when I realized why this guy had mugged Bonnet instead of the clearly more well-off individuals.

This guy was not looking for a fight.

He wanted an easy target that wouldn't give him any trouble because he couldn't defend himself against the risky targets. From the thinness of his body, he must have been hungry and didn't have any money for food. He robbed Bonnet so that he could eat!

Edward didn't see it that way.

I could feel in his thoughts that he was angry that someone had dared "threaten" someone he considered a friend.

"But the thief didn't harm Bonnet!" I shouted, trying to stop Edward who was advancing on the poor man. But it was a futile effort; I had no control over Edward's body. I couldn't stop him. "Look at him! He's no match for you! He's starving!"

Then I could actually hear Edward's thoughts. Jumbled as they were, they seem to be answering me back, twisting my words around. " _It doesn't matter if he has not hurt Bonnet, he threaten my friend! How many others has he threaten? How long before he winds up killing someone out of desperation? No, it ends here and now! He's a dog, lower than dirt! The only thing he hungers for is other people's gold! I'm better than he is!_ "

I fell silent.

He thinks he's actually doing the world a favor. He can't see how much of a hypocrite he's acting. He thinks he's above this starving man.

I watch him block the mugger's bad attempt to strike. I watch him shove the thin man back. I watch the mugger stumble…

And fall over the edge of the roof…

To his death…

Edward…I could feel his disappointment at the lack of a fight, but still full of satisfaction, sheathes his swords and climbs down to the street. Once his boots hit the pavement, I was finally de-synchronized from him and standing over the dead body.

Somewhere in my mind, I knew that I couldn't have saved this man. He was already dead. By my time, he would be dead for almost three hundred years. Just because I could view the past, doesn't mean I could change it.

Besides, it was not my job to try and save the already lost lives of the people of past. My job was to analyze the pirate Edward Kenway and see if my bosses upstairs could commercialize on his life as a pirate. I don't like the idea that my job is to essentially help Abstergo Entertainment capitalize on people's lives, but what else can I do?

If I don't make it here, I'm not trained in anything else.

Well…nothing legal anyway…

But right now though, I don't think Edward is worthy of even that. He's not the first ancestor of Sample 17's bloodline to have been opted out by Abstergo Entertainment analysts for product capitalization. There is at least three that I know of, and they've been locked out mainly due to their violent tendencies and/or problems with their personalities.

Yeesh, my first day on the job, and already I dislike the object of my first analyses. But it's too soon to ask to be transferred to another subject. I'm stuck with Edward Kenway.

I glance over to him as he searches the corpse for Bonnet's purse, and whatever else he could find on the barely cold body.

"You robbed the wrong man, mate," I heard him say to the dead mugger, finally locating Bonnet's purse, "A fellow with dangerous friends."

When he stood up, I saw him grinning in triumph.

Something within me snapped, and I couldn't stop myself from trying to punch him in jaw.

Of course, my fist just goes right through him, but even so I started speaking as though he could hear me. I was too angry to care.

"What are you smiling about?" I said, disgusted. Even though I was smaller than him, and he couldn't see me, I stepped right in front of him and stood on my toes in order to look at him straight in the eye, "Have you so little regard for those less off then you? Could you not see that the two of you were the same?"

Muggers, pirates, thieves, robbers, they were the same to me: they all stole things from others. The only difference between them was what, where and how they did it, but in the end, they were the same.

'Least, that's how I see it.

I sighed and rubbed the point between my eyes above my glasses hard with my fingers, setting my feet back down flat on the gravel and took a few steps back.

Really, what is wrong me? Why am I so upset?

"Oh what am I doing?" I said, now talking to myself…again, "It's not like you can hear me. You can't even see me."

Really, I'm pretty much talking to walls. This time, this place, these people, they're not real.

Not really…not anymore…

They're all just compressed data inside a highly advanced machine.

Outside the Animus, this isn't the eighteenth century; it's the twenty-first century. Havana is still around, but not like this. Havana has cars, electrical lights, modern buildings, a Chinatown (or so I heard), and metal ships in its ports. These people, Edward, Bonnet, the mugger, Bonnet's crewmen, the people the mugger and Edward knocked down during that mad chase…they are long gone, faded away from memory and, for most, from historic record.

Why can't I seem to get that?

Nikola Tessa Takeuchi-Kestrel, get a hold of yourself!

"Eh? What?" I heard Edward say, his voice full of bewilderment.

I twisted my wrist slightly to peek pass my hand to look at him, wondering why he suddenly sounded confused. But he was just standing there over the body, blinking rapidly than rubbing his eyes.

"What now?" I said, annoyed, "Got something in your eye?"

Of course, he didn't answer. But…

Why did it seem for a few moments there he was looking right at me?

…

…

Nah! Couldn't be. Must have been something going on behind me.

I trail after Edward, heading back to the church where, hopefully, Bonnet still was; the silent invisible ghost that I am.

A ghost in a machine that can view the past, not interact with it.

Maybe if I keep telling myself that I can get through this session with my sanity intact. I need my sanity intact in order to make out my first report, and be able to talk to Mariana when she and her mother call later today. Can't let Amy think she needs to come and rescue me from across the border.

…yet I'm still pondering why Edward, the arrogant jerk that he is, looked so surprised and why he keeps looking over his shoulder at my direction.

Dammit, focus, Nikki! Concentrate on your job!

* * *

Thankfully, Bonnet did have the good sense to wait where we left him.

From his words, he was far more happy and relieved to see that Edward was alive and unharmed rather than the return of his purse. If it weren't for the crate of sugar he had in his arms, I think he would have given Edward a hug. I had to crack a small smile at the mental image.

Stede Bonnet sure was Edward Kenway's polar opposite in every way: cheerful, polite, and gentlemanly if naïve and far more innocent then a man his age should be. He was a good man to be around, a breath of fresh air in this chaotic world of where swashbucklers and military soldiers were constantly at war with one another, and people killing each other for either the stupidest reasons or the smallest crime.

'course, Edward just HAD to ruin the moment with his overconfident arrogance.

Still, I was glad to see that Bonnet seemed to share the same, or close to the same, feelings I had about Edward's attitude at the situation.

…why couldn't Sample 17 be related to him and not this idiot jerk I'm saddled with?

As Bonnet and I followed Edward to the destination of Bonnet's tavern, I started looking around and taking in the scenery of the port town, taking mental notes about 18th century Havana as a way to pass the time and keep my mind off Edward for a few minutes. With the connection between Edward and I, it was not like I could get very far away from the pirate; maybe eight or nine feet at most before I'm back to his side like a slingshot.

And being a ghost, I can walk through everyone that bumps into me, pass through anything in my way and no one can see or hear me, so I can afford to be distracted.

It's not long enough though. All too soon I hear Bonnet pop, "Ah! We've arrived."

This tavern looked a lot brighter and cleaner than I had expected. Maybe it was because of the open courtyard where the where the visitors and the regular patrons were sitting about, drinking, socializing, being merry, or flirting with the tavern ladies. Or maybe it was because this tavern was situated in an area where the Spanish soldiers patrol regularly. Whatever the case, it sure beat anything I was expecting to see.

"Take your time," I heard Edward say to Bonnet, drawing my attention back. I see Edward gesture to a table with a passed out man is sleeping, his bottle of alcoholic beverage still sitting upright and clutched limply in his hand. "I'll be just here."

Bonnet nodded and broke away to go to another part of the tavern, leaving me to follow Edward to his chosen table. Seeing no place for me to sit, and not wanting to stand even though I could not get tired, I chose to sit on top of the table, leaning back against my hands comfortably. From there I can see why Edward chose this table: a clear view of the entrance, which also served as the exit.

I watch Edward sit down in the unoccupied chair, and place his—actually Duncan's—small bag on the table's top right next to me. The bag contained maps and some sort of glass-like cube. No doubt, those maps were the information Walpole was to deliver to Havana's governor, a Mr. Laureano de Torres y Ayala. Though what was the cube for?

I know maps, especially maps of 16th and 17th century New World, were vital sources of information.

Why? Because North and South America, Mexico and the Caribbean islands wasn't completely explored yet and the new lands were up for grabs. Britain, Spain, France, Portugal, the Netherlands were some of the major players for colonization of the New World, especially in North America, Mexico and the Caribbean. Those who colonized an area would get its resources and resources meant money for the colonists' home country.

Maps were vital because they hold the secret where these locations with these resources were and who had control of them. But this made the maps dangerous because if they fell into enemy hands, the enemy would have the means to find the colony and take it for themselves.

It was why the time before the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713 was so full of wars; the great empires of the world were constantly competing for resources until it exhausted them.

But the cube?

I have no idea.

"Fancy meeting a welshman deep in Dago country," said a man from another table just across from Edward's table. He had one of those…dancers…sitting on his knee. His eyes were sunken in and his voice sounded slurred, but from the presences of a bottle in his hand, I guess he was a bit drunk. Do I want to know what the word "Dago" means?

Probably not.

"I'm English meself," the man continued, "Biding my time 'til the next war calls me to service."

Ah, he's a former privateer, like Edward. But unlike Edward, this one that didn't turn to piracy; instead, he's turned to women and drink.

…that's worse…

"Lucky King George having a piss-pot like you flying his flag," Edward shot back, disinterested.

Although I silently agreed on some level, again I couldn't stop myself from glaring at him. Isn't he supposed to be keeping a low profile now that he really is in a high-risk area that would certainly draw unwanted attention if you're not careful?

And to think not too long ago I was thinking he actually had a brain.

Edward reached to snatch the bottle from his unconscious tablemate's hand. But I caught a slight movement, which I wouldn't have seen otherwise if I wasn't looking.

I was sitting and leaning directly in front of his reach, so his hand and arm should have gone right through my stomach. But instead, for a split second, his hand paused…

Then he reached around me.

What the—?

I didn't have time to think about it. The dancer let out a half-pained half-surprised noise, catching my attention and I jerked my head back towards the ex-privateer.

Oh no, he's gotten to his feet and is looming, trying to make himself look bigger, tougher and more intimidating.

He's succeeding for me, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Edward is nonchalant, taking a large gulp of his free drink.

Damn your cool-headedness, Edward, damn you!

"Oy! Skulk!" the ex-privateer said, his voice loud and I could see a few people looking over at us, their attention caught by the loud voice. "I seen your face before. You's mates with them pirates down in Nassau."

I felt the inside of my stomach twist. Oh no, Edward has been recognized. His cover has been blown.

We had to get out of here! Now!

I'm seeing the ex-privateer through Edward's eyes.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! Why am I in synchronization NOW?! We have to get out of this place!

"Shut your fucking gob!" Edward/I snapped, glaring warningly at the loudmouth blabbergob (Edward's words, not mine), "Or I fill it with shot. You hear me?"

Unfortunately, the ex-privateer didn't "hear." Instead, he laughed and latched onto the hood of Edward's stolen coat and yanked it down. "Edward, is it?"

I've never head-butted anyone before until this moment.

Ouch…

Edward, non-surprisingly, wasn't fazed or even dazed by his attack like I was.

As I fought through the pain and blurred vision, I saw Edward grab a hold of the half-drunk man and punch in right in the gut before pushing him back hard, throwing him off balance and he crashed into his table. His tablemates, with their drinks still in hand, scrambled out of the way of the flying body and the table broke clean in-half by the drunken ex-privateer's heavy weight.

"You call this keeping a low-profile?!" I shouted helplessly from within Edward.

Oh great, now the drunk's tablemates are angry and itching to fight. And when there's fighting and alcohol involved, this doesn't become a fight: it's a brawl!

I really hate you, Edward James Kenway.

* * *


	5. The Parallel Coincidence

_So I'll be holding my breath!_

Huh?

_Right up 'til the end!_   
_Until that moment when!_

I open my eyes.

Oh, I'm home in my small but fully-furnished apartment on Rue Clark Street in Little Italy, Montreal. I must have fallen asleep when I got back home from work way early then I had expected. Apparently, first time users of the Animi computers have to spend less amount of time on them then the regular users, in order for the first time users to get used to them before they can go on a full work shift within at least a week.

Didn't bother me none since I needed a break, desperately, from Edward after that harrowing escape from the Spanish soldiers that broke into the tavern when they were alerted by noise caused by the brawl.

Edward won the brawl, of course, surprisingly with only a bloody, non-broken, nose

I still don't know where or when Edward got that smoke bomb.

Anyway, now I can see why first time users need time to adjust to the Animus, I'm exhausted. And to think, all I did was sit in a chair behind a desk for two hours, walk to the 12-minute walk to the Pie-IX Montreal Metro station, sat for another thirty minutes, and got off at the nearest station to my street and walk the final five minutes…

In heels…

And then I crashed onto the couch, not bothering to say hi to Scotty, my gorgeous ragdoll cat.

According to the TV clock, it's 5:44PM.

Damn, I left Abstergo Entertainment at 11:17PM.

And…

My cellphone is ringing?

_I find the one to spend forever with!_   
_Cause nobody wants to be the last one there_

Crap! Mariana and Amy!

I shot off the couch, upsetting poor Scotty, who was sleeping so soundly and snuggled up against my back as I raced to the kitchen table where I put my cellphone down.

When I saw Amy's name on the Caller ID, I was quick to attach my own home-made scrambler to the power socket of my IPhone, in order to cut off any Abstergo agents from listening in or tracing the call. It was something I made after I had been in contact with Erudito for a time during Project Legacy, just in case their warnings about Abstergo happened to be right.

It wasn't until Liberation that I found out that they'd been right.

_Cause, everyone wants to feel like someone cares!_   
_Someone to love with my life in their hands—!_

With the scrambler safety in place, I hit the talk button on my phone's LCD screen and raised the device to my ear. "Hello?"

" _Konnichiwa, Obachan_!"

I started laughing. "No, it's _moshi moshi,_ when talking into the phone, Mari," I said, grinning at the sound my oldest niece's voice.

Mariana, now eleven-years old, was still learning Japanese when I left New York two weeks ago. While she was getting really good at remembering how to speak in full sentences, she was still having trouble remembering the language rules.

Ah well, at least she stopped calling me, "Okachan" instead of "Obachan."

I heard Mariana let out a loud, long, and clearly disappointed groan. "I thought I had it!" she droned.

"Oh, you had it," I assured her, "You just mixed up two words that have the same meaning. Anyhow, how's my favorite niece in the whole world doing?"

As I listen to Mariana ramble about school, her Japanese lessons and how much she missed me, I walked into my bedroom where my laptop was located. I jammed another one of my special scramblers into one of the laptop's connection sockets and turned it on.

"I miss you, Nikki! I wish you'd come back home," Mariana said in one of the saddest voices I ever heard from her. It was enough to match how sad she was when she and Amy saw me off at LaGuardia Airport.

"I know, I know sweetie," I said, sitting down in my desk's wooden chair "I miss you too."

"Will you be here for Christmas?"

"No. No, I don't think I will," I told her sadly as my desktop appeared on screen. "I'm sorry."

Really, I would love to spend Christmas with her and Amy again, but I was over three hundred and fifty miles away and I don't know what's going to happen to me now that I'm in Abstergo territory, and I ain't making promises I can't keep.

"Momma wants to talk to you," Mari said sadly.

"Okay. Hey, I love you."

"I love you too."

I could hear the phone being passed, and then I heard Amy's Brazilian accent voice telling Mariana to go watch a movie while she and I talked in private.

"I'm sorry," she apologized to me, "She's not used to you not being here anymore."

"It's alright Amy," I assured her. "I miss you two just as much as she misses me, and I'm sure you miss me as well."

"Of course I do!" Amy said, "You've been my steadfast companion for three years, sis. Oh, why did Abstergo have to take you across the border, away from us?"

"Well, when one of the world's biggest corporations in technological development gives a person with no college degree a once-in-a-lifetime job offer, you take it, otherwise they'll get suspicious," I reminded her, pulling up the said job offer from a hidden file within the laptop.

It said:

**Abstergo Entertainment Montreal is looking for talent to develop the most innovative entertainment products ever conceived. This Virtual Feature will be powered by Animus technology, the proprietary system behind the hit "Liberation".**   
**As we ramp up for Abstergo Entertainment Montreal's first major project, we are seeking top-notch talent in many fields to fulfill key roles in the studio:**   
**\- PRODUCT DEVELOPMENT: UX/UI designers, tool developers, programmers in many current languages (contact us for details).**   
**\- TECHNICAL SUPPORT: IT, cloud server management, network technicians.**   
**\- CUSTOMER CONTACT: Community managers, customer outreach, online support.**   
**\- OFFICE SUPPORT: Human resources, legal representation**   
**\- MANAGEMENT: positions at many levels.**

Looking at the Ad, I find myself flashing back to my time on Project Legacy. The project was cut off last year due to security concerns, no doubt were caused by Erudito's attempts to protect the players.

I was one of the "lucky" ones. I had completed the Project well before the security cut off. Not only that, I was one of the few who reached the top, and I had caught Abstergo's attention because of that.

Erudito…

Erudito showed me a truth…

Project Legacy was an experiment. A human experiment of mind control!

They were using Animus tech to simulate what Abstergo wanted us to believe! Bending truths into lies so thick that they had to be truths. And in these lies, Abstergo would have the power to control people: we would become their puppets for something terrible.

When I saw the body figure of the man behind Project Legecy, I knew I had seen the enemy.

Thanks to Erudito's hack, I was able to avoid the brainwashing. I was able to slip out of their high-performance radar, and back to their low-performance radar and they didn't even realize it. I was no longer someone that needed to keep their eye on. Instead I was put in reserve, along with hundreds of other players to be used as a resource for something else.

That something I suppose was Abstergo Entertainment.

But obviously at the time, I didn't want to believe anything was wrong. That what I had seen or learn was just a game. I even tried to convince myself that Erudito was just part of that game. Abstergo was just poking fun at the players, making them think the world is not what they think.

Nevertheless, the seeds had been planted, and when Erudito gave me "Divine Science" not long afterwards, and then Liberation came out last year, I could no longer be blind.

But that's another story…

Amy's voice brought me back.

"Nikki? Nikki, are you still there?"

I blinked and shook my head, rubbing my eyes. "Uh, yeah, sorry," I apologized, "It's been a draining day. I was at work for only two hours and I'm exhausted."

"Two?"

"First time users have to spend less time in the Animus during their first week," I told her, closing the Get-A-Job Ad. "But even then we only get three hours we can spend in it."

I can clearly picture the frown on her face from the tone of her voice, "Why three hours?"

"From what I overheard, one of my co-workers has been spend at least six hours a day on it," I told her opening my another hidden folder, containing a program which I labeled "Raziel." "That's against the regulations because of something called "the Bleeding Effect"."

"Bleeding Effect?" Amy parroted back, interested, "What? Do they bleed you out for being in a machine too long?"

I let out a stifling chuckle, "No, I don't think it's that literal. Otherwise, Abstergo would be funneling out dead bodies."

"True," Amy sighed, "Do you have idea what it means then?"

"No," I said, holding the IPhone between my head and shoulder as I typed the newest question into the program.

My "Raziel" program was a security program, much like security core programs, only "Raziel" had seventy-two layers of protection. "Raziel" would protected any and all information about my secret investigation into Abstergo's mysteries, as well as the information I stole from their systems. I choose the named "Raziel" because of its connection to secrets, mysteries and protectors.

But right now, it was pretty empty with only questions and a few digital copies I made of the paper Ads that I received from Abstergo, and copies of the e-mails I got from them, as well as Erudito.

To name a few of the questions:

_What is Abstergo's true purpose?_   
_Who is running Abstergo? Is there a chain of command?_   
_Who is opposing Abstergo?_   
_What is Abstergo doing now?_   
_Project Legacy's final purpose? Why brainwash people?_   
_What was Liberation's true purpose? Why alter Aveline de Grandpré's genetic memories?_   
_Who is Eve?_   
_What exactly was the Prophecy Disk?_   
_Who are the "divine"?_

The list went on until I reached the final two questions:

_What happened to Desmond Miles?_   
_What is the Bleeding Effect?_

The former question was only there because of Amy.

"I take it you haven't found any information on Desmond," Amy asked. Perfect timing as usual, Amy.

I let out an amused snort, "Are you sure you didn't have a crush on the boy, Amy?"

"Nikki!" Amy exclaimed, "I'm thirty-two years old and in a steady relationship with a media artist. Why would I want to date a co-worker?"

"Calm down, I'm only teasing."

I hear Amy take a deep breath. "I know, I know," she said, "It's just…"

"I know."

Amy had witnessed the kidnapping of a co-worker of hers at the Bad Weather nightclub, a man a little older than me named Desmond Miles. She had been hiding in the darkness of the parking lot where most of the employees would park their vehicles and witnessed the whole thing. She had seen the vehicle the kidnapers used: a truck with Abstergo's logo on it.

She reported it to the police, but soon found out that they weren't looking for Desmond.

Once I got my head straightened out, I looked into it for Amy and found out the police investigators that had been looking into the case had been bribed (a check of about five figures) to shut down the investigation.

Why? And who paid them? Abstergo?

I had met Desmond Miles only handful of time before, always at Bad Weather. I think Amy was hoping to get the two of us together since she forced the poor guy to serve me non-alcoholic drinks, make sure the guys were polite to me, and once she made him dance with me.

However, cute as he was, I was not interested in any relationship.

Still not…

Especially now…

"So tell me," Amy piped, catching my attention again as I closed "Raizel", "Who is this subject they're making you analyze during the day."

I let out a harsh breath of air. Just what I need: to be reminded of Edward Kenway.

Can't I escape him for one day…night…day?!

"Oh, don't get me started on the guy!" I flopped backward onto my bed—just a think mattress on the floor, but still fully made and comfortable, especially with it being right next to the heater.

"Why?" Amy pressed.

Oh really, Amy?! Why are you pressing my buttons when I'm so short-tempered about "my analyzed subject?"

"Because he's a reckless, arrogant, hooker-loving, foul-mouthed, idiot pirate!"

"He's a pirate?"

" **Yes!** And don't say "Arrrgh" or "Yarrr matey", or ANYTHING like that! It's bad enough I had to deal with the CCO saying that!"

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. "Wow…" Amy said slowly, "What did he do to you?"

"What **_didn't_** he do to me?!" I was now shouting. Everything I had felt during that session just came flooding out of me like an overflowed river tearing open a dam, "Not one second into the session and I find myself in a battle, getting shot at by _**cannons**_! Then the fool nearly gets _**blown up**_ and nearly _**drowns**_! Followed by this _**death-defying**_ chase through the **_jungle_** , where he brutally _**attacks and kills**_ a man! Then comes his poor excuse for sailing through _**a rocky bay**_! I'm going to have nightmares, you hear, NIGHTMARES about those _**rotten skeletons hanging in cages**_! Those ghastly looking women! That STUPID LEAP OF FAITH into a _**hay wagon**_ , which SHOULD HAVE KILLED HIM! But no! Instead, he has to chase a poor starving mugger through the streets and rooftops of Havana! And when he catches this mugger, what does he do? HE FUCKING KILLS HIM! NO MERCY! Just goes and does it! And then he has the STUPID IDEA OF STARTING A BRAWL IN THE MIDDLE OF A TAVERN, ALERTING THE GUARDS AND WE GO THROUGH YET _**ANOTHER**_ DEATH-DEFYING CHASE! FOLLOWED BY MAN-HUNT WHICH LASTED THROUGH THE REST OF THE SESSION! And where am I during all this? _**I'M STUCK IN HIS FUCKING HEAD!**_ "

…

…

…

I need to catch my breath.

…

…

Oh dear, did I scare Amy off? It's not her fault that Edward has made me act like this. She didn't deserve to bear the brunt of my frustration and anger with the pirate.

Crap, Nikki, way to go! You scared off probably your one and only friend in this world.

"Shit," I said into the phone, "Amy…if you're still on the phone. I'm sorry."

"N-No-no," Amy—thank GOD she's still on the phone—said, "You needed that. Clearly. But you know…"

There was a five second silence.

"What?" I pressed.

"If you take away the killings, the skeletons, the women…" Amy started, paused, and then finished, "Doesn't that sound a lot like Gabe to you?"

Gabe…

Gabriel Kouichi Takeuchi-Kestrel…

My oldest brother…

Amy's old boyfriend…

Mariana's father…

…who died in 9/11…

Is that what has been bothering me this whole time?

Edward reminds me of Gabe.

"I…" Now I'm dumbstruck.

Sure, my brother never killed anyone, and he didn't look at women like they were pieces of meat, but…

"I…yeah…yeah, I guess it does."

I heard Amy laugh a small, sad laugh, the kind that makes you know the person is remembering something that was lost. "Gabe was always taking me, you and your brothers on crazing adventures. Do you remember the day he took us out to ride Go-Karts?"

"I nearly wet myself," I muttered, "The speed he was going, how reckless he was on the track. Then he made Joey turn green and blue at the same time!"  
Amy let out a bark of laughter, "And he wanted to take Baby Derek for a ride! Your mother nearly had a heart attack!"

"Oh, was she pissed!" I said, unable to keep a laugh from coming out, "And Maury! He wouldn't even look at Gabe for a whole month after he nearly ran him over with you in the passenger seat!"

"I've never been so scared in my life when I saw my boyfriend's little brother right in front of a speeding kart with us in it," Amy said, her voice filled with unsuccessful repressed laughter. "Gabe swears it was an accident, but I still think some part of him wanted to get back at Maury for nearly scaring him to death that last Halloween!"

We both let out a series of hoots and hollers that lasted for nearly five minutes. Then we were quiet.

"…I miss him," I said softly, breaking the silence.

"I do too," Amy said, just as quiet, "Even after twelve years, a baby and now a new boyfriend, I still love him. I always will."

More silence for just a few more minutes.

"Nikki," Amy's voice came through the phone, "I'm not saying you have to like this guy, but maybe you shouldn't judge him too harshly."

"I know I shouldn't," I replied, "I mean I only saw one tiny portion of his life today. And his world…it's completely different from ours. I mean really, if you think about it, the eighteenth century was only three hundred years ago, that's not that long ago if you think about it, is it?"

"No, it isn't," Amy agreed.

"And Edward—that's his name by the way—he's not completely without a good side. I've seen him show comradeship with a fellow sailor who was in trouble. And I've felt his sadness for those pirates whose skeleton remains were left to hang in gibbets, instead of being giving a proper burial in the ground or at sea. It's not much but…"

"It's enough to show that there is a good man inside?" Amy suggested.

"Yeah," I agreed softly.

"Do you like him?" And there's that teasing tone.

"Amy! The guy is dead!"

"Ah well," Amy let out another laugh.

I have to roll my eyes. "Really, woman," I said low and clearly faking annoyance.

Amy kept laughing.

I feel a lot better now.

* * *

By 9:29AM the next day, I'm back at the Abstergo Entertainment building, wearing mid-heel shoes instead of high-heels, which are much less comfortable then these new shoes. At least with mid-heels, I don't feel like I'm going to fall over every three steps. And it makes the near twenty minutes of walking I have to do just to reach this place much more comfortable.

I flash my ID tag at the security checkpoint and I'm allowed through without problems. I say " _Salut_ " to every employee and " _Bienvenue_ " to every visitor that passes by me as I make my way to the elevator. I even said " _Bonjour_ " to the barista at the coffee stand that was located right next to the information desk. He looked very surprised that someone had bothered to say " _Bonjour_ " to him.

Or maybe it was my state of dress.

Am I really the only female Abstergo Entertainment employee that wears skirts that go passed her knees, or just hangs over the ankle?

Yeesh…

I enter the elevator, and press the Wi-Fi symbol on my communicator, which rests just comfortably under my arm.

Whose idea was it to rig the elevators completely with Wi-Fi control anyway? Great to keep unwanted visitors out of the upper floors…

Not so great when there's a blackout and there is no way to get down since there are no stairs leading to the ground floor.

I know…I hacked the city's mainframe for the blueprints of this building while I was still on the airplane two weeks ago. Not an easy task because I'm no Eurdito. I am not an expert with these bigger mainframes. I must have tripped dozens of alarms.

Still, all is well. The police are still baffled at why so many coffee shops and liquor stores were giving of false alarms. Still wish I didn't have to do that. Those boys need to be there when a REAL emergency occurs, not chasing after false ones.

I make to the second floor and exit the elevator smoothly. I say a greeting to the secretary, who mimics my greeting back, and head toward my Animus. I sit and make myself comfortable in my chair, and swivel to face the computer. I place the communicator down by the keyboard and grab a hold of the visor.

"Sample 17 Subject: Kenway Line: Edward James Kenway. Session Number: Two. Research analyst: Gabriella Martins. Time: Oh-Nine-Thirty-Two Hours, November, 2013," I said, as the visor fitted itself to my head.

Now all I had to do was wait for the Animus to transport me back to Edward. Exactly what time I would be taken to, however, would depend on the Animus. But the last time I saw him he was heading towards some place where he knew he could spend the night in safety since the Man-hunt for him had last well into nightfall before the soldiers gave up.

A storm of data fills my vision, and for a few moments I'm standing in a floating sea of blue-green and white data that behaves like waves on the ocean do, before the data storm fills my vision again for a few moments.

When it clears I wish it didn't.

"AAAARRRRGH!"

I clasp my hands hard over my eyes, uncaring that my glasses are in the way, and start hopping up and down, turning my whole body away from the scene.

Only my second day, my _**second session**_ with Edward and already I'm seeing him naked with an equally naked dancer—the same dancer, if I'm not mistaken by the dress on the floor, I saw sitting on the knee of that ex-privateer Edward KO'ed yesterday—giving him a BLOWJOB?!

Since it's useless to ask for someone to kill me now since I'm already scarred for life, I out all the curse words and swears I knew in English, Japanese, my limited French vocabulary, and now my Spanish vocabulary.

**DAMN YOU TO HELL EDWARD KENWAY!**

I stomped my way to the door of the tiny—and I mean really tiny, only big enough to fit a bed—room, kicking uselessly at the discarded clothing on the floor, and walk straight through the door. I only stopped just outside of it because I could feel something straining within my chest.

That's the sign that the "chain", that's what I call the connection between me and Edward when we're not in synchronization, connecting me to Edward is being strained to its limits. If I go any further, the "chain" will yank me back inside the room.

No way was I going back in there!

Much later on, I would learn that had I kept my eyes uncovered for a moment longer, I would have seen startled surprise on Edward's face and his stunned gaze at the door, completely forgetting about the dancer between his legs until she asked him what was wrong.

I was too busy cursing him.


	6. New Day, New Hitches

The thick heel of my shoe tapped the ground in a steady, if impatient sounding, rhythm as I leaned my body—lightly!—against the wall next to the door of that tiny room where I caught Edward and that dancer. Though I haven't heard any "sex sounds" from the room since I left it in a fury of random curse words a few minutes ago—THANK GOODNESS. I don't want to end up falling through the door because of my intangible body and getting **_a second_** eyeful.

It's a wonder I didn't fall through the table yesterday when I sat on it.

This ghost-thing isn't easy to figure out.

I can't even float in the air…

Ah, I'll figure it out later.

Where exactly did Edward spend the night anyway? This place had better not be a brothel then I'd really be pissed off. But considering the dancer…

It might be possible.

Uuuugh…

Wait…

Is that alcohol I'm smelling?

…I don't think brothels smell THIS thick of the stuff.

So…not a brothel?

Then where the hell are we?!

Then I hear violin music and singing…

_A solider lad came here at night_

_With riding he was weary,_

_A solider lad came here at night,_

_When the moon shone bright and clearly_

 

_Bonnie lassie, will yee get with me_

_Bonnie lassie, will yee lie near me_

_And I'll gar all your ribbons reel_

_In the morning air I'll leave yee_

 

_She takes the trooper by the hand_

_And leads him to her chamber_

_She's given him some wine to drink_

_And like love it feels like ember_

 

_Bonnie lassie, will yee get with me_

_Bonnie lassie, will yee lie near me_

_And I'll gar all your ribbons reel_

_In the morning air I'll leave yee_

Catchy.

Too catchy…

That kind of singing and music was something I doubt you'd find in a brothel if I were to guess. But I have never been in a brothel before—thank god.

Maybe we're in a tavern? The beat of the music sounded just right for a tavern setting.

I would prefer it if we were in a tavern.

The strain in my chest weakens.

I let out a sigh of relief as the un-comfortableness fades away with each muted boot-step I can hear on the other side of the door. Edward must be getting ready to leave. No doubt he's finally finished with his "service." Ugh, I don't even want to think about it. But the image is imprinted on my mind and it's not going anywhere any time soon.

Dammit.

"What will it cost to compensate for the night?" I heard Edward's voice through the door.

Huh…I guess the door is not very thick. Sound travels easily through the thin wood.

…so why didn't I hear anything before?

AH! No! No, don't even think about it, Nikki!

…shit…

I thought about it.

Arugh, I said it before, many times now, and I'll say it again: I hate you, Edward Kenway.

Finally, the door opened and Edward, looking no worse for ware, exited the room at last. Except his nose…it's still badly bruised.

Ooooh…looks painful.

"Nice to see one of us had a nice night," I muttered, sarcastically because I _was_ still disgusted at the scene I had witnessed not ten minutes before, watching Edward rub his left temple as if to get rid of a lingering headache. His blue eyes glanced over to where I was leaning against the walls, but he looked away just as quickly.

He _still_ can't see or hear me, so why does he keeping chancing a glance my way?

But at this point, I'm no longer caring if no one can hear me. If I don't let some form of my anger or frustration out, I, or someone, is really going to regret it later. Since I can't put it too good use or constructive while I'm stuck in the Animus, I might as well let my vexed feelings out through my words.

"I hope you're still planning on catching up with Bonnet, considering you just ditched him yesterday," I went on to say.

That was another thing I was pissed off at Edward about. After the brawl and when the Spanish soldiers just burst into the tavern, Bonnet came running over to Edward; probably to seek his protection if his panicked expression was anything to go by, but the bastard just left the poor man behind when he fled, saying he would catch up with him.

If he breaks his word to the merchant, then I'll have yet another reason to hate him.

Wait…

Good god! The Spanish soldiers had seen Bonnet with Edward, hadn't they?!

Now I'm really worried for the gentle merchant!

Headache seemingly back under control, Edward pulled his hood back up and over his head. Just as he started to walk pass me, I happened to look down a bit and noticed that there was something off about him.

Then I saw it…

"Edward? Where's Walpole's pouch?"

As if right on cue, Edward raised his hand to his belt to where the pouch was normally hanged, only to find it vacant.

…

Wow, that's a new word for my Spanish Curse Word Vocabulary.

* * *

We caught up with Bonnet near the pier where his schooner was docked. I breathed a sigh of relief at seeing him and picked up my pace, moving ahead of Edward to see how the dear man was.

"Oh Bonnet…" I said disquieted by the sight of the gentle merchant's face as Edward caught up. It was covered in two large blooming red bruises on his cheek and forehead, a cut lip, a swollen nose and a huge black eye that nearly swelled his left eye shut.

Poor Bonnet had gotten beaten up because he had been seen standing right next to Edward and talking to him before the pirate had run off.

At least, for once, Edward actually shown some true courteousness and apologized for running off, and then he apologized again when he saw Bonnet's injured face. I don't think Bonnet really liked Edward's excuse for wanting to keep Spanish eyes off him, but the blonde merchant was too kind to hold a grudge.

Really, Edward could not truly appreciate what a friend Bonnet was to him. Expect for perhaps Amy, I don't really have any friends like that back in my home-time, but if I did, I would appreciate them as they should be appreciated.

Still, I can't say Edward treats Bonnet unkindly. I've seen how well he's treated the merchant during that few days sea journey from Cape Bonavista to Havana. And I could feel that his treatment was genuine, not an act.

I suppose the Animus connection between me and him allows me to know when he's being honest or deceitful, because the connection was mind-based, not blood-based like the earlier Animus models.

Still, that doesn't mean I can read his thought. My connection was more empathic then it was telekinetic when we weren't in synchronization. Only when we're synchronized could I truly understand and hear his thoughts.

"Regrettably," Bonnet sighed, rising to his feet, "The soldiers confiscated my sugar. And your dispatches."

Well that explains where Walpole's pouch went. The idiot left it on the table when the brawl broke out, the arrival of the Spanish soldiers made him forget about it entirely. The man-hunt and his night with the dancer hadn't helped his memory either.

…

Okay, seriously Nikki, why are you still bothered over that image with Edward and the dancer?

Focus on the now!

"Damn!" Edward exclaimed, his annoyance that he may have lost his chance to get Duncan's reward flooded over me, "And where've they gone?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea, I'm afraid," Bonnet answered.

I felt Edward's annoyance increase, but then Bonnet pointed to two young Spanish officers at a kiosk only a few yards away from where we were. "I suspect those chaps might," Bonnet explained, "But my Spanish is _muy maldad_ , so I'd…I'd rather not ask."

" _Muy maldad_?" I said, confused, since I didn't know the translation, while at the same time Edward let out a well-known English curse word.

"All right," he said, walking around the merchant "Come on, let's follow 'em and recover my maps."

And _Voilà!_ I'm back in synchronization, receiving full blast at Edward's irritation at the delay to his prize and…

Somewhere under that all that, buried within, yet there for one second before getting smothered back under the frustration was…

Confusion?

What was he confused about?

I had no time to ponder it when a new wave of annoyance this time towards Bonnet when he asked if they were also going to recover his sugar.

I felt my own wave of annoyance at Edward's annoyance. "That sugar is his bread and butter."

Edward sighed when this seemed to occur to him. "We'll see what happens," he said pulling his hood back up, his tone clearly stating that Bonnet sound not expect anything.

Bonnet nodded his acceptance.

Edward turned around…

And the world…changed…

"What the hell?"


	7. Sticking To It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning!: Graphic mention of capital punishment

Either there's something wrong with the Animus's visual settings or Edward just went colorblind. I don't know which.

…or maybe…

Maybe…

…

Back during my days on Project Legacy, one of my persons to study was a young boy called Giovanni Borgia. He had this strange ability that allowed him to pinpoint and shadow a man named Francesco Vecellio, another person I had been instructed to study, through a crowd. When he used the ability, the world became devoid of color, and things (people, objects, animals, even the scenery) nearly blended together, like they were made of fog.

Much like this…

There were only three colors I would see when the world became like this: blue, red and gold. But these colors were on specific targets.

I can remember that Francesco Vecellio was outlined in gold, Fancesco's associates were outlined in blue, and those thieves that tried to rob Giovanni—seriously, how desperate were those men to try and rob a defenseless 5-year-old child?—were outlined in red.

Blue: Ally.

Red: Enemy.

Gold: Target or Importance.

Abstergo said that this was actually the DDS' visualization of Giovanni's observational skills; a feature created by them help the players with what they were looking for.

Apparently that was yet another lie.

This vision, or maybe it's one of those sixth senses, is a real thing.

And, lo and behold, Edward has it.

Amazing…

* * *

After all the trouble he's put me through lately, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually impressed with Edward.

He's actually able to use a little strategy known as forethought.

I'll explain…

That special vision…I think I'll call it "Eagle Vision" since I can't help but think of the visual capabilities of that particular bird of prey when it comes to this abnormal but amazing ability.

Anyway, I don't how he did it, but the Eagle Vision "tagged" the two officers, both were outlined in a gold glow by the way, and they stayed glowing even after the vision was turned off and the world returned to normal visually. Giovanni Borgia's Eagle Vision couldn't do that. Maybe Edward's is just a different version of the same ability?

Moving on!

With the officers tagged, it was easy to keep track of them while keeping back our distance.

Bonnet, however, was unaware of Edward's ability and, I don't if it was intentional or not, but he had ignored Edward's warning to keep quiet and keep his distance. He went right up close to them—like only four feet away! And he didn't even lower his voice!

Ugh!

Predictably, the officers spotted him right away. I let out a loud growl of annoyance within Edward's mind when I saw that Bonnet did not get just how serious that was.

Oh, that idiot!

Don't get me wrong, please. I like the merchant, I really do. He's pleasant company…but _that_ was just plain stupid.

For once, Edward and I were in agreement with our thoughts: Bonnet should not have tagged along, and we were both quite happy when Bonnet suggested splitting up.

The merchant went in the wrong direction, and at that moment, I decided I was actually happy I was stuck with Edward.

Better to be stuck with a zealous pirate then an absent-minded gentleman of a fool who had could not see danger until it bit him. At least with this pirate, I know he can defend himself. Poor Bonnet wouldn't have lasted a second if those officers had decided he was dangerous. He'd be dead before he could say, "Good Day!"

Thankfully, probably due to the Bonnet's unintended distraction, the officers never noticed Edward.

The two officers met up with some other merchant, who told them that they were late. The officers' excuse was that their captain delayed them.

"Yeah, right!" I said with a snort. I remember the way they were acting around the kiosk. I highly doubt it was coincidence that kiosk held the only female tradesperson on that whole pier. Also, add in the fact that they didn't even look at the produce the kiosk held, and what do you got?

…I'm getting beside the point…

Edward continued to tail the officers as they escorted the merchant—actually, if you want to get technical, this merchant was really a slave trader—through the city to where their captain was, at the time, overseeing a hanging.

A hanging…

Another grim reality of 18th century life…

It disgusted me when I overheard the slave trader said that he liked a good hanging. It disgusted Edward too; I felt it as clear as day.

* * *

The hanging was…painful…to witness…for me…and for Edward.

I've seen hangings before…in the movies. But you know when you see one of those capital punishments on the view screen? You know that the actor or stage extra is okay, that the limp body hanging on the noose is really a manikin or rubber life-sized doll.

No one is actually dead.

I don't have that luxury here…

Edward never had that luxury…

He couldn't watch it. He didn't want to. He turned his head away so we didn't have to see it and kept it away. But we still heard the trapdoor open…the snap of the rope…the loud sound of vulnerable bones breaking…

That's a sound you don't ever forget, but it's too horrible to think about.

How can something like that be so _normal_?! How can people actually enjoy watching that?!

Still…I'm glad Edward doesn't have any sick pleasure to it. Too early to quit him or not, I would have drawn the line if he did.

I guess…no…I know truly now…deep inside…he really is a good man.

Still a jerk, don't get me wrong.

But a good man…

Perhaps that's enough to convince myself to stay with him; no matter how many times he'll most likely piss me off in the future.

You're stuck with me Captain Kenway.

* * *

"Edward! Really?!"

Well, we were successful. We managed to locate Walpole's pouch and Bonnet's sugar inside Havana's Castillo del Morro, a picturesque fortress, known today as Morro Castle. The pouch and the sugar were in the fort's lock-up room, where confiscated items and supplies were stored.

Edward checked the dispatches to ensure their good condition. Once he ensured that the cube remained uncrack, he placed back in the pouch and turned to where the sugar was.

Unfortunately, the sugar was not in its travel package anymore, so Edward had no choice but to leave it behind.

Poor Bonnet. I had really wanted to get his sugar back.

Edward was quick to find a way out of the fortress. But…

Did he have to dive into the harbor from fifty feet up in the air?

Granted it was the fastest way to get out of the fortress, but…

Well, why should I be complaining? It's not like I'm the one who's gotten wet and is trying to swim in heavy clothes.

Oh right…

THE MAPS ARE MOST LIKELY RUINED NOW YOU MORON!

Why'd want I stay with him again?


	8. Into the Lion's Den

We found Bonnet back at his schooner again, unloading some more sugar crates. I noticed his black eye seemed a bit less swollen, much to my relief. That meant it was healing just fine. When my younger brother, Maury, was twelve-years-old, he had gotten a black eye while he was playing catch with me and Joey. I had accidently thrown the ball too hard and it hit him right in face.

We treated the injury as best we could with ice, but when the swelling didn't go down after two days, mom took him to the hospital. We found out he had eye damage and he needed eye surgery right away. Though the surgery saved his eye, he lost half his vision in that eye. Even after all these years, he's only regained ten percent, enough to allow him to finally gain his driving license but only at the bare minimum.

We never played together after that. I was too afraid I'd hurt him again.

"Sorry about the sugar," Edward apologized to Bonnet, drawing me out of some bad memories, "I've only one pair of hands."

"Actually you had two pairs, but mine are useless," I said, looking at my hands.

I don't know why I didn't notice this sooner, but my hands—actually my whole body—really look like they belong to a wraith. Sure, they're human-shaped but I look like what normal people do in Edward's eagle vision. All grey and looking like they're made of compressed fog.

I guess I really do look like a ghost, invisible as I am.

A movement from Edward caught my attention.

Much to my astonishment, Edward was unhooking his own meager purse. Once it was free of his belt, he gently threw it over for Bonnet to catch. Compensation for the loss of the sugar, I suppose.

You surprise me yet again Captain.

"Oh, it's no great loss," Bonnet assured, easily catching Edward's offered purse, "Uh, I've got a…" He gestured towards the rest of the cargo on the deck of ship, "Plenty of cargo here to make a profit of my trip."

"Will you stay here long?" Edward asked.

"For a few weeks, yes," Bonnet answered, hooking his new purse onto his belt. "Then back to Barbados, to the tedium of domesticity."

I frowned.

"Don't settle for tedium!" Edward said, "Sail for Nassau. Live life as you see fit."

I frowned deeper.

"Haven't I heard that Nassasu is crawling with Pirates?" Bonnet posed, "Seems a very tawdry place."

"Not tawdry: liberated," Edward calmly corrected, but there was a strong hint of proudness within his frame and his voice as he spoke.

If I frown any deeper, my face is going stick this way. This conversation was hitting a little too close to something I've heard before in my past.

" _Domesticity is boring, Nikki, I want to go on an adventure! No parents and no siblings to hold us back, just you and me and the guys, traveling the country! We'll go beyond the boarders and see all this big world has to give us!_ "

I saw how the fascination and intrepid intrigue seemed to glow on Bonnet's face like the dawn of rising sun. "Oh, God," he breathed out, his face lost in the idea of a place liberated from…something… "That would be an adventure!"

But just as quick as the temptation appeared, it was gone.

"But no, no," Bonnet said, very seriously. Actually, it was the most serious tone of voice I've ever heard from the blonde merchant. "I'm a husband and a father. I have responsibilities."

…it's true…whether we don't want to believe it or not, we always have responsibilities to something. Especially when it concerns family…

"Life can't be all pleasure and distraction, Duncan," Bonnet said, turning around to get back to unloading his cargo.

…

A lesson I had to learn the hard way.

I don't think Edward as learned that lesson yet, because I can see him rolling his eyes slightly when Bonnet turned his back, and his shoulders shrugged nonchalantly as if it were Bonnet's loss.

Edward makes a move as if he's going to leave, but he suddenly turns back to Bonnet.

"Hey, ah, Bonnet."

The merchant turned back.

"The name's Edward, in truth," Edward admitted, causing my eyebrows to shoot right up my forehead, "Duncan's only a handle."

For a few moments, the merchant was silent, and then a huge grin crawled onto his face. "Ah! A secret name for your secret meeting with the governor," he guessed.

I felt Edward's flabbergast. Heck, **I** was even more surprised, my eyebrows rising higher. Edward had not told the merchant one word about meeting with the governor.

Then again, he did say "secret errand for his majesty the king." Who would need to know about secret royal business other than the representative of government?

"Well, he's not as dumb as he looks, huh?" I said amazed, talking in Edward's direction. I can still remember the stupid move Bonnet made earlier during our shadowing of the two Spanish officers. Hard to believe it's the same man.

The saying "can't judge a book solely on its cover" keeps coming to mind.

After a few minute of watching Edward's open gapping and Bonnet's smug grin, I had to laugh as Edward regained himself. "The Governor, right," he said, disbelief still on his face, "I think I've kept him waiting long enough."

I couldn't stop laughing for several minutes.

I have the feeling that it won't be every day when I witness Edward actually taken by surprise like this.

* * *

The Animus called the Governor's House: "Palacio de los Capitanes Generales" otherwise known as "Palace of the Captains General," with "Captains General" meaning "Governor." Today it is the Museum of the City of Havana, but in 18th century it was still in use as the official residence of the Governor of Havana….

…which would mean that Edward is walking straight into deeper and, consequently, more dangerous enemy territory.

The Colonial Heads of the Caribbean were the most powerful enemies of the West Indies pirates. The governor had the power of absolute veto, backed up by the country's monarch or cabinet to oversee a colony and be the head of the colonial administration. This means that they had power over everything within the colony, including the laws and the in-and-out coming of trade.

Which is what would naturally make them the most dangerous enemy to any pirate…

And still Edward was calmly making his way into the lion's den.

I didn't say anything during the whole time we traveled through the city, either on the street or on the rooftops—strange way to travel, but interesting and slightly fun.

But what could I say? I was worried. He wasn't. He was calm and confident. I could feel my heart pounding and was always on the lookout for signs of danger. I couldn't get this feeling out of my mind that something was going to go wrong.

So, okay, I'll admit it:

I was worried for Edward. But there is nothing I can do to stop him.

As he walked causally towards the white iron gates that served as the gateway entrance to the house grounds, I silently prayed that all my worry would be for naught.

Yet I couldn't help but tell myself to expect the worst since Edward wasn't.

" _¡Buenos días_!" Edward called to where two Spanish officers were standing guard on the other side of the gate bars, "Mister Duncan Walpole of England to see the Govenor. I believe he is expecting me."

" _Sí, señor Walpole_ ," one of the guards said. He took out his key and unlocked the gate, opening it just enough to allow Edward through. " _Entry por favor_."

I hadn't bothered waiting for the gate to open. I walked on through the bars, and through the arm of one of the guards that brushed me. He let out a violent shiver as if some cold wind just passed over him, but I ignored him and went as far as "the chain" would allow me to.

The yard wasn't ginormous, but it was mainly dominated by a stone walkway where I could see more guards, either on patrol or simple talking to one another. I could also see a few slaves and gardeners working on what little landscape there was to be had. In the near distance, I could hear gunshots.

I was yanked back to Edward's side when I hadn't noticed he had walked past me and stepped out of limits of "the chain." The yanking doesn't hurt, but it is annoying when you're looking at something only to be snatched away to look at something else.

I resume walking next to Edward, keeping my eyes out and listening for any signs of trouble. I could hear the guards that were following the gate were following us—how could I not? They were talking pretty loudly even though Edward and I were about ten feet away from them.

Although my Spanish is better than Bonnet's, I still couldn't quite understand what they were saying, but I knew they were talking about "Duncan Walpole."

We reached some stairs. I could hear that the gunshots I heard from the gate must be coming from the terrace at the top of the flight.

The knot of my stomach only gets tighter.

I feel like I always do when I come to work in the morning ever since I first stepped into the building a week ago. Feeling as though there are eyes everywhere, watching me. The surrounding area looks pretty and normal—for the 18th century anyway—but I can feel the same sense of falseness in the air.

Like Abstergo Entertainment, the Palace of the Captains General is too perfect.

Once we were at the top, I spied the ones firing off the gunshots.

Two men…

From their state of dress, they were certainly to be the people to talk too. But I think the man with the badly scarred cheek that seemed to try and crawl over the rest of his face, was the one with any official rank, judging by the fact he was wearing a long coat, a cravat, smart waistcoat, well-fitted breeches, compared to the other man's open shirt, almost too-big trousers, red cloak and large almost floppy hat. But you'd never know.

However, I would literally eat a shoe if one of those men were the governor Walpole was supposed to meet.

"Good morning, sir!" said the well-dressed man with the scarred cheek when he noticed Edward. The man handed his firearm to a servant and walked over to Edward, meeting him only within a few steps. "Would I be correct in thinking you are Duncan Walpole."

"I am indeed," Edward answered.

I jumped a little, startled, when the man in the red cape fired another shot into a crude human silhouette target within their make-shift firing range.

"I thought as much," the scarred man continued, shaking Edward's hand in greeting, "Woodes Rogers. A pleasure."

"The same," Edward replied.

"Not for me," I muttered softly. I did not like the feeling I was getting from this man. I don't know if it's his scarred cheek, or the way his grey eyes were studying Edward's face, but something about him is putting me off. The little voice in the back of my mind was telling me that he couldn't be trusted.

"I must say, my wife has a terrible eye for description," Woods Rogers said.

"I'm sorry?" Edward said, genuinely confused.

"My wife," Rogers repeated, "You met her some years at the Percy's masquerade ball."

Edward acted as though he was just remembering. "Ah! Quite…"

"She called you 'devilishly handsome'," Rogers explained, "Obviously a lie to stoke my jealousy."

They both laughed, though Edward's was clearly just part of the act. But I couldn't help but take a few moments to look at Edward's face.

"Devilishly handsome" indeed!

It must be the blue eyes. None of my family members, expect for Mariana, have blue eyes. Both sides of my family, Japanese and European decent, have dark or brown eyes. I inherited my Dad's brown eyes, instead of my mom's nearly black ones.

"Julien!" Rogers called to his firing companion "Our Guest of Honor has arrived. Mister Duncan Walpole."

You know the feeling you get when you look upon a movie actor portraying a cowboy with a little too much eagerness to fire his gun at someone, no matter if they're friend or foe? Well, that's the feeling I got when I looked at the barely shaved face of Rogers' companion. He looked more ready to shoot Edward then to talk to him.

"Ah…" he said slowly, his voice making the bad feeling of "going-to-be-shot" worse. It was heightened by the fact he was still holding his firearm. I felt Edward's growing need to tread cautiously as the man stepped toward him.

Good. Maybe he'll actually listen to his gut on this one.

Still, Edward shook his hand, politely.

"Julien du Casse," the man introduced himself, "I hope your conversion to our Order is an honest one." He dropped Edward's hand. "I have no love for Assassins, but even less for liars."

"I have not come to disappoint," Edward reassured, as I kept my eye on du Casse.

But it wasn't for very long because I was once again suddenly looking through Edward's eyes.

Rogers chuckled and held out two pistols for Edward to take. "Up for a bit of sport, Duncan? The old man isn't ready for us just yet."

Christ! I've never fired, much less handled, a firearm before!

Thankfully, Edward has.

…why doesn't that make me feel better?

* * *

I think these men are testing Edward, seeing if he truly was the Assassin Duncan Walpole, before they brought him to "the old man," whom I suspect is Governor Laureano de Torres y Ayala.

I did a little research after my talk with Amy into the man.

Laureano de Torres y Ayala was a Cuban-born Spanish man. He was born in Havana but grew up in Madrid, Spain. He came from a noble family. His father was a politician, having served in the jury in the Spanish city of Seville, as well as the regular mayor, governor and Captain General of Mérida in South American.

In his youth, Laureano was part of the Spanish army, but was then appointed to be governor of Florida; a post he held for six years. He then participated in the War of the Spanish Succession in Europe, then following the war's end, was again was appointed as governor. This time as the position was Governor General of Cuba, stationed right here in Havana. He lived to be about seventy-seven years old, but the exact time and location of his death is unknown.

The history books paint him as a man of charity since he promoted the construction of desperately needed hospitals and other charitable works.

But if what Abstergo said is true: the Animus can show people the real historic truth. And I'm starting to think this one thing that they didn't lie about.

For example, the year I'm in is 1715. According to my research, Laureano shouldn't be Governor of Cuba anymore. Vicente de Raja should be. The information I got says Laureano's time as Governor ended in 1711.

So…either Vicente de Raja doesn't exist, or Vicente de Raja and Laureano de Torres y Ayala are the same person.

Interesting…but right now, it's beside the point.

As I was saying, I think Edward is being tested.

He passed the firing test and challenge with flying colors. But then du Casse noticed Edward lacked Duncan's wrists blades. Edward was quick to tell that the blades were damaged beyond repair. Not a lie, but I caught the suspicion in du Casse's eye.

He then gave Edward a new pair of wrist blades that he took from other Assassins…dead Assassins, most likely killed by du Casse himself if the way he spoke said anything.

They took him to another part of the yard and said that they wanted to see a demonstration of "Assassin Techniques."

My stomach dropped deep at the words and Edward fumbled with his own words. But there was no escaping it. They wanted to see.

During the whole time, I kept thinking of all the assassination methods with the so-called Hidden Blade, which I think are the same blades dawned on Edward's wrists, I had witnessed through the eyes of my Assassin subjects in Project Legacy.

Much to my surprise, each technique I remembered and thought of, Edward did exactly the same thing.

Perfectly. No mistakes. As if he had done this before, many, many times.

But I knew he didn't. I could feel his surprise at every technique he pulled off flawlessly.

What could this mean?

Did I…

Did I somehow guide Edward?

How can that be?

Ugh! None of this makes any sense!

Still, can't argue with the results. Rogers and du Casse were convinced.

I finally de-synchronized from Edward at last, still surprised over what had just taken place, but I had no choice but to shove it aside.

It was time to meet Governor Laureano de Torres y Ayala.


	9. The Face of the Enemy

"The Assassins have trained you well, Duncan," du Casse said, his attitude softened—as much as can be for a guy like him could anyway—now by the "show" Edward put on. Edward and I were now following him and Rogers deeper into the grounds surrounding the Palace.

It's amazing that from the front gate, you cannot actually see how truly big the Governor's private property extends due to the Palace blocking the view. But I suppose that was part of the impression that the high-ranking officials wanted to make for those on outside looking in. They try to hide the fact that they had more land than the common person, which was sign of wealth, especially in the 18th century. The idea is that the bigger the property you lived on, the richer you had to be, or at least show how high your rank was in comparison to everyone else.

Typical power-playing wealthy bastards…I hate that kind.

"You chose a perfect time to leave them behind," Du Casse finished, drawing my attention back to the conversion between the men. But I still kept looking back over my shoulder, expecting to see someone, most likely a hired street thug, be sneaking around behind us with the aim to shoot Edward in the back.

But, of course, there's no one there.

Still, I just can't help but look.

"At great risk, I imagine," Rogers added, "Betraying the Assassins is never good for one's health."

"Well, neither is drinking liquor," Edward remarked, "But I am drawn to its dangers all the same."

I rolled my eyes. Of course he would.

Only difference between the dangers of liquor and an Assassin was: liquor can kill you slowly while an Assassin can kill you when you least expect it. And more often the not, you'd be dead before you hit the ground.

I should know: I've seen it happen through the eyes of the Assassins themselves.

Edward looked over to Du Casse, looking politely interested. "And what is your business here, Sir?" he asked the Frenchman—I figure that was his nationally, mainly by listening to his strong accent. It also helps that I hear a lot the same accent back in Montreal. "Are you an associate of the governor's? Or a pending acquaintance like myself?"

Du Casse waved his hand as if he were dismissing the question, yet he did answer it, "Guns, blades, cannons, grenados... Anything that may kill a man, I am happy to provide."

Ah great, THAT explains it.

That's just what we need...

A weapons dealer...

No wonder he looked so ready to shoot Edward earlier. Though by the way his hand kept brushing over his firearm on his belt, I still think he wants to. Or maybe he's just happier to have the gun in his hand instead in its holster.

I don't know which is worse.

"A smuggler of sorts," Edward replied…

Is he actually amazed, or is that part of the act?

Ugh...well…

Pirate and smugglers did often would work closely together, and the only real distinction between them, according to the officials, was smugglers worked on the islands while the pirates rode the wave of the oceans. So naturally, the two groups benefited one another as allies.

Pirates would steal the goods and smugglers would take the goods to sell off to the trusted buyers, and profit was shared between them by some written deal. So it was a win-win partnership.

"And how is your wife these days, Captain Rogers?" Edward asked.

Huh?

**Captain** Rogers?

Was this man a sea-fearing man? A former privateer or pirate like Edward?

That's the only reason I think of how Edward would know this scarred man was, or still is I suppose, a captain.

I'll have to look into him when my session is over.

"Is she, ah, here in Havana?" Edward asked.

I had to frown—I couldn't help it.

But…

Well, if I think about it this way, Rogers' wife is a dangerous threat to Edward's secrecy. I have no doubt that she had seen what the true Duncan Walpole looked like if the description words of "devilishly handsome" were anything to go by.

She could very well blow Edward's cover.

…I don't want to think about Edward would do to convince her to keep her silence…

No, I don't think he'd kill or harm her.

However…

…

…okay, I'm not going down that train of thought. It is bad enough I have that image in that tavern's rented room still floating around in the back of my head.

Thankfully for my sanity-driven-by-modesty mindset, Rogers shrugged nonchalant. "I trust she's well. But I wouldn't know," he answered, "I have been in Madagascar some fourteen months, hunting pirates. It took some work to dislodge the criminals there, but we managed. In future, I hope to use these same tactics throughout the West Indies."

Edward almost paused in his step, causing me to walk right through him again, but luckily he caught himself and resumed his pace before he could draw unwanted attention. I paused to let him walk next to me before resuming my own walking pace, but this time keeping in step with his.

I could feel his uneasiness, and I leaned forward a bit to try and get a glimpse of his face. He was frowning slightly.

I don't think he realized Captain Rogers was also a pirate hunter. His next question confirmed it.

"And how did you deal with their kind?"

Captain Rogers looked over his shoulder to look directly at Edward, his face was stoic but his eyes were filled with what I could only describe as smug pride.

"Very simply," he said, his voice matter-of-fact like, a contrast to his prideful gaze, "Most pirates are as ignorant as apes. I merely offered them a choice...take a pardon and return to England penniless but free men, or be hanged by the neck until dead."

"Ah," Edward said, his face and voice betraying none of the disgust I felt radiate off him from within, "I imagine Nassau would be your next target?"

Captain Rogers looked impressed. "Very astute, Duncan. Indeed."

As the captain turned to look back ahead, Edward, under the guise of keeping face, politely wished him best of luck.

I don't know why, but I felt this protective urge within my chest. I don't know where it came from, and it surprised me. However, surprise or not, it didn't prevent me from glaring angrily at Captain Rogers.

"I hope you meet the business end of a pirate's blade when you get there," I said to his back.

…

Huh?

Did Edward just smile slightly?

* * *

Governor Laureano de Torres y Ayala was more or less the kind of man I had expected him to be.

He was old with his wispy white hair, sunken in and thinly bearded face. His wealth and rank was expertly shown by how richly dressed the three-piece suit was on his thin frame. But despite the lankiness of his body, he held no true fragility. He still could stand tall with no slouch in his back, nor could I see any hint of that movement easily tired him out. Most men his age—seventy-years, I think it is currently—are not as vigorous from what I could tell.

But as I looked at his face, a very familiar feeling came over me.

It was the exact same feeling I felt when I had reached the highest ranks within Project Legacy and I saw the figure of the man-in-charge.

I once heard that some people can just smell that they were looking at something, or someone, very powerful, and therefore, very dangerous.

Like Captain Rogers and du Casse...like that mysterious man that tried to brainwash me…and to a much lesser, but still there, extent, my supervisor Melanie Lemay, and the CCO Olivier Garneau, I knew that I could not trust them.

They were dangerous.

They were, or as I suspect in Melanie and Olivier's case, working with, the enemy that has been around for a very long time. Long before I was even born if what I've learned in Project Legacy and Liberation told me anything.

An enemy that preached purpose, order, stability, direction and control, but in reality were no different than that which they sought to destroy: corruption.

And Governor Laureano de Torres y Ayala was one of the worst of them.

I wanted to get out. I wanted to stop watching. It would be easy. I can detach myself from the Animus at any time…

But then I'd be leaving Edward, blind and ignorant as he is to what I can see, behind.

I cannot do that. I said that I would stick with him, and I don't make promises I cannot keep.

So I'll stay here…and watch.

Oh man, for this guy, what have I gotten myself into?

* * *

"You were expected one week ago," Torres informed Edward, his eyes narrowed in clear suspicion, though his tone was that of slight edginess.

Well that won't do if the head of whatever operation becomes distrustful of someone who is supposed to be a turncoat of a rival faction. Thankfully, Edward knew this too as he was able to deter the suspicion…

By planting a lie in a truth…

"Apologies, Governor. My ship was set upon by pirates. We were scuttled. I arrived only yesterday."

Torres bought it. I saw the suspicion ease off, but I had a feeling that it didn't totally disappear.

He would be a clever old man to keep a hold of his qualms this early in the game with a supposed traitor.

"Forgive my caution," Torres asked, "But were you able to salvage from these pirates the items you promised me?"

"Yes sir, I was," Edward assured, opening Walpole's pouch and he pulled out the strange cube, and the surprisingly still dry folded up maps.

I was so sure the maps were ruined when Edward took that dip in the port. Perhaps I should have known better.

Edward is bullheaded, but not stupid, even when he seems to be—to me anyway.

I suppose I'm letting my own natural—or otherwise acquired—intelligence get the best of me. I'm only 21, a little younger then what Edward is now, and even I can still get caught up in the arrogance of youth. Even my bad experience with Project Legacy hasn't completely taken that part out of me, although I suppose it has made me more aware of it.

Torres took the items Edward handed him, but his attention was firmly fixed on that cube. The way he looked at it was sending shivers down my spine. He looks like he was just given the power of sun right in his hand.

Just what the heck is up with that cube?

" _Increíble_ ," Torres muttered, turning the cube over to look at it from all sides. I could feel Edward's growing suspicions as he watched Torres' reaction like a hawk.

So he too has similar thoughts. Good.

Like I said, and have to keep reminding myself, he's bullheaded but not stupid.

"The Assassins have more resources than I had imaged but…" Finally, Torres looked away from the cube and back at Edward, who was quick to hide any sign that he had been gaging the old man's reaction. "…not nearly enough to deter us."

And as he pocketed the cube, he finally reached to shake Edward's hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Duncan. You are most welcome."

He then turned to address Captain Rogers and du Casse. "Come Gentleman," he said, "We have much to discuss."

"Indeed," I said, unheard by all.

Alright Torres, let's see what your game is.


	10. Of Schemes and Sneaks

Torres led the men into an enclosed patio with a well-sized circular table in the center. Upon the table were some curious sheets of paper. I broke off from Edward to get a better look at them.

The largest paper was unsurprisingly a map. This one showed the West Indies: The Bahamas, southern Florida, Cuba, Jamaica, and the Florida Keys were the ones I could make out from memory. If I looked closely, I could read the faded labeled names on the map as well: Havana, Cayo Island, Juvented Island, Cayman Island, Kingston, Florida, Andreas Island, Nassau, Cat Island, Crooked Island, and Tortuga.

Some of these islands and the names of these towns I can faintly remember from either certain movies or books, or even in passing from fellow high school students bragging about their next vacation spots in the Caribbean. Yet curiously, four places, Andreas Island, Cayo Island, Florida and Cat Island had red X's crossed over their location dots.

Wonder what those meant?

Places that were eliminated? Or places of great importance?

All the while, Torres was speaking.

I think the old man likes to talk…too much.

"Convened at last," he said, "And in such continental company... England, France, Spain... Citizens of sad and corrupt empires."

I rolled my eyes as I straightened up. I can see this is going to become politics talk.

I **hate** politics talk!

But it didn't become politics talk…

No, it became something else entirely.

Torres placed the cube gently on the table, and took some kind of container from the heavily armored man that had been standing close by Torres since Edward, Captain Rogers, du Casse and I arrived to meet the old man. Someone called him "El Tiburón." That's Spanish for "The Shark"—and **boy** , in that helmet, he sure looked like one.

Torres continued, "But you are Templars now. The secret and true legislators of the world."

My eyes widen and I felt my body stiffen and freeze.

Somewhere in my mind, something went click.

Templars…

Oh my **_god_** …

That's it! **That is it!**

That's the name of the enemy! That's who's running Abstergo!

_Christ_ , I've heard the name so many times in Project Legacy and Liberation, and I didn't even put two-and-two together!

The saying about finding answers lying before your eyes when you spent such a long time looking elsewhere, only to find that they were right in front of you? It is actually quite true enough.

Why didn't I pick this up sooner?!

…Ah, I'll figure that out later. Among the many other things I need to work out.

Still…

Oh my…

* * *

I stood back, still at the table, watching Torres some kind of simple induction ceremony on the three men. He merely asked the men to hold out their hands, and Torres gave them something—some kind of ring with a red cross insignia. While du Casse held his ring in his palm, Captain Rogers and Edward allowed Torres to slip theirs on their fingers.

All the while, Torres was speaking: "Mark and remember our purpose. To guide all wayward souls 'til they reach a quiet road. To guide all wayward desire 'til impassioned hearts are cooled. To guide all wayward minds to safe and sober thought."

I could feel Edward was fighting to keep from frowning. He wasn't liking what Torres was saying in his "speech."

Quite frankly, neither was I.

I don't know what exactly is running through Edward's mind as Torres did his speech, because his emotions were being tightly held by his self-control in order keep up his disguise—making my empathic bond with him a moot point for the moment.

But I do know what is going through my own mind. Torres' talk sounded too suspiciously close to what Madeleine de L'Isle said to Aveline about the purpose for humanity's creation.

It was enough to make me really hate being here in this 18th century patio, surrounded by those who are the predecessors of those that tried to entirely enslave my mind. Even though they failed in that account, I was still trapped within their clutches—I wouldn't be here right now if I wasn't. And it was only by careful maneuvering on my part that they remained unaware that I had, what we'll call, "waken up" from—what Torres had _so helpfully_ described—a "safe and sober" sleep.

And I'm not going back to sleep.

I can't.

As Torres came back to the table, I took three giant steps backwards away from it.

Even if he doesn't know that I'm there, and that he can't hurt me, I still don't want to be anywhere near that old man.

Torres motioned for the three men to gather around the table. "By the Father of Understanding's Light, let our work now begin."

Yeah…let's begin.

* * *

Torres, Captain Rogers, and du Casse gathered closely around the map I was examining a few minutes earlier. Edward hanged back, peering over their shoulders.

"Decades ago," Torres said, starting to explain, "The Counsel entrusted me with the task of locating in these West Indies a forgotten place our precursors once called the Observatory."

Observatory?

What kind of observatory are we talking about here? I doubt it's the kind of observatory I know about. The kind that studies the stars in the night sky?

Wait…

What's Edward doing?

While Edward's gaze was looking directly at the map, one of his hands was slowly sneaking into Captain Rogers' coat pocket. What's amazing about this is that the captain did not notice it, his eyes too fixated on the map.

Although Torres was standing right next to Captain Rogers, on the exact same side as the pocket Edward was sneaking his hand into, the old man did not notice anything going on right next to him. Instead he pulled over one of the smaller pieces of paper—the ones I failed to catch a glimpse at since I was more interested in the map.

Edward's hand slowly came out of Rogers' pocket, but his hand was enclosed around something. From a tiny gap between his fingers, I spied something shiny.

I felt something warm and bubbly up in my chest as I watch Edward quickly stuff his enclosed hand into his own pocket. The ends of my mouth slowly turning upward and I felt this urge to laugh. I kept it down, but it was like trying to keep a well-shook can of soda trying to escape its aluminum prison.

My mouth only grinned wider, and it became harder to not allow the laughter—because that was what it was—from escaping me when I saw Edward's hand was now going for the old man's pocket.

Still, he did not notice. Too busy talking.

"See here..." Torres said, pointing at the drawing on the papers he pulled over, "Look upon these images and commit them to memory. They tell a very old and important story. For two decades now I have endeavored to locate this Observatory... a place rumored to contain a tool of incredible utility and power. It houses a kind of armillary sphere, if you like."

But I can hardly pay attention as Edward successfully pockets his new small handful of money. The grin is now half-way up my face and I grab my straining cheeks with one hand to stop them from going any higher, but the actions brings my shoulders up to my ears, allow a few giggles to escape into my throat.

It only gets worse when Edward calmly shifts around Captain Rogers, as though he's trying to get a better look at the papers. But I can see that he only moved to get closer to du Casse, who is practically leaning so far over the table, he's almost lying on it. That position exposes his carelessly left open purse on his belt.

Edward doesn't even need to put it whole hand into it; just a few fingers and he empties about ten, maybe fifteen, coins.

That did it.

Laughter I'm still trying to suppress with my hand escapes me. I leaned over to brace my free hand against my knee. With my body shaking from the released laughter, the thick purple patent headband that I'm wearing to keep my hair not in its ultra-low ponytail out of my face, threatens to slide off my head.

Oh god, Edward is such a sneak!

I managed to calm my laughter enough to catch the last of what Torres is saying. "—would mean to have such a power. With this device, there would be no secrets among men. No lies. No trickery. Only justice. Pure justice. This is the Observatory's promise. And we must take it for our own."

That's…

Not good.

All amusement and laughter I had felt by watching Edward's antics is gone at the snap of a finger.

Dammit, I should have paid more attention to what the Templars were saying rather than watch Edward pull a trick on them. Now I don't know what it is that this "Observatory" can do; other then what Torres believes it can do.

I straighten up and toss a glare at the pirate.

_Damn you_ **yet again** Edward Kenway!

"Do we know its whereabouts?" Captain Rogers asked. His tone sounded professionally curious, but I caught the spark in his usually cold eyes. He agreed with Torres about using the Observatory as a means to bring about justice.

For a pirate hunter like him, whose life is dedicated to hunting down the bandits of the seas, it's a goal worth pursuing to the bitter end.

And that makes him all the more dangerous.

"We will soon," Torres assured Rogers, "For in our custody is the one man who does. A man named Roberts, once called a Sage."

Sage?

What in the world is a Sage?

The only sages that I know of are those in found in video games, but I highly doubt that's the kind of sage the Templars are talking about.

Du Casse seemed to know if his sentence had anything to say about it. "It has been forty-five years since anyone has seen a true sage. Can you be sure this one is authentic?"

A very good question.

"We are confident he is," Torres said, his tone leaving no room for doubt in his belief.

That's probably not good either.

Anything that Templars have that can give them a huge advantage in carrying out whatever their schemes entail is never a good thing.

Captain Rogers crossed his arms, his mouth tight in a frown as if something had just occurred to him, and whatever it was, was not a good thing. "The Assassins will come for him," he cautioned.

The Assassins…

…

If these are this century's version of the Templars, is it quite possible that this century also holds its version of the Assassin Order?

Maybe…

I don't know…

All I do know is although Duncan Walpole has been labeled as an Assassin by the Animus. He's been called an Assassin by the Templars. Heck, he even as the characteristic Hidden Blades and hood that I've always seen associated with the Assassins. But how do I know that Walpole wasn't masquerading around as an Assassin, just like Edward is doing now with Walpole's identity?

I can't. Not until I have solid proof.

So until then, I'm going to assume that the Assassin Order I know so much about, but understand so little, are not here.

Torres nodded his agreement with Rogers' word of caution, but he was now smiling. "Indeed they will. But..." The old man walked back to the end of the table where he had put down the cube, and picked it up, still looking as though he had all the power in the world in his hand when he looked at it. "Thanks to Duncan and the information he has delivered, the Assassins won't be a problem for much longer."

As Torres walked towards one of the patio where I spied some kind of wine, I watched du Casse and Captain Rogers looked at each other, but the French smuggler could only shrug. Both of them followed the old man.

Edward moved to follow as well, but I caught him sweeping his hand over the table's top. He snatched one of the papers up, and quickly folding it and stuffed it into Ducan's—well, I suppose I should be calling it Edward's now—pouch without making any sound.

…

…

…

Sneak…

"Until then, let us drink."

Torres finally turned around, holding two decorative ceramic cups, no doubt filled with wine. He offered the drinks to du Casse and Rogers, who took them with a small nod of thanks. Edward accepted his offered cup when the old man handed it over to him.

Too bad I'm still invisible and a ghost, I feel like I could use some of that wine. And that's saying something since I don't drink alcohol in any shape or form. However, Pepsi won't be invented for another…two hundred forty-six years here, and I don't trust the soda machines at Abstergo Entertainment. They might be laced with the synthetic drugs Erudito warned me about.

Do I sound paranoid?

Well, honestly, I am. That's the downside of being awakened from Abstergo's "safe and sober" rest. You no longer feel safe or secure. Everything is not what it seems or what you believed it was. You even question who you should trust.

…You find that you're on your own.

Here in the past at least, I can have a momentary rest from such things.

But that's all that is: momentary.

I watch them raise their cups in a toast, but I turn myself away and cross my arms over my stomach, holding myself loosely. I can feel that it's almost time for the session to end.

"Let us find the Observatory together," I hear Torres say, "For with its power, kings will fall, clergy will cower, and hearts and minds of the world will be ours."

I get this prickly feeling sensation in-between my shoulders and down my back. The kind of sensation you get that someone is watching you, yet it doesn't feel bad enough that there is any danger. You just know someone is looking.

I turn slightly to look over my shoulder.

My brown eyes lock onto Edward's blue ones.

I'm quite sure I'm just deluding myself, but I actually want to believe that he's actually really looking at me.

It makes me feel less alone.

My vision fills with the storm of data as the Animus automatically logs me out.

But the whole time, my eyes and Edward's seemed to be locked on one another.

...

Yup…

I'm deluded.


	11. Origins of a Hacker

Scotty's sweet roly-poly face was the only thing to greet me when I returned to my apartment.

"Well, hello-hello," I greeted the ragdoll.

My large 13-pound—not fat, my Scotty really is just big-boned—bag of love rose up from his basket and walked over to me as I finally removed the god-awful heels on my feet.

Really, how can some women stand to wear these every single day? The high heels kill my feet and ankles, and the mid-heels, while better balanced, still cause tension in the foot arches.

Unfortunately for me, the heels were part of my "Gabriella Martins" masquerade, along with the glasses, which I toss onto the coffee table—no matter how charming I look with that on my face, I really hate wearing those things. My headband and hair tie follow right after it, allowing my black hair to straighten out as I ran my fingers through the strands.

The things you have to put up with when you're hiding your true identity from one of the largest and most prominent corporations in the world. And not just to protect yourself, but those you love as well.

I may have been an overconfident and rebellious child in my younger years, but I had still listened when Dad told me never to give away any true information about myself on the Internet.

I wasn't stupid. Even if I was just looking for an excuse for a good time on the Internet, I heard enough horror stories about Internet predators to make my cautious.

So, as far as the world was concerned, Nikola Takeuchi-Kestrel is still living in the U.S, no longer with her could-have-been sister-in-law and niece, but still in the U.S. Gabriella Martins, on the other hand, was an economic migrant, who had taken part in Abstergo Industries research projects.

In other worlds, as far as Abstergo was concerned, Nikola Takeuchi-Kestrel was just another faceless person in the masses of the world, while Gabriella Martins was one of their…tools, I guess.

Very awkward situation I put myself in three years ago. It's amazing I've managed to keep my real name and identity a secret from them this long.

It's a challenge that has kept my hacking skills up to strength, and so far it hasn't failed me.

…

Okay, you may be wonder how someone like me has gotten into computer hacking?

Complete accident really. I was still only a little kid when I did my first hack.

My mom has always been an expert in computers, even with all the changes that has taken place in their development these last couple decades. She worked in computer security as a _white hat_.

Basically, a _white hat_ is a computer security expert, who specializes in penetration testing to ensure the security of an organization's Internet, and other information systems. Meaning she was being paid by the company to break into their own information systems to test how secure the system's firewall was, and how well the anti-hacker security systems worked against skilled hackers. And my Mom was one the best.

So, I suppose you could say I got my skills from her.

But ANYway, like I said, my first hack was a complete accident. I was only five.

However, at that age, I knew how to run a computer because I often sat in my mom's lap when she was on the computer—mother/daughter bonding time you could call it. I had often seen her doing test simulations on her personal computer—essentially a training course to keep her skills up with the fast-pace development of computer electronics.

In the innocence of youth, I thought she was playing a game—much like the ones I had seen Gabe and Joey play on the computer.

One day, she left the computer on and the training program open because she had been drawn away by Derek's crying. He was only a newborn at the time, and needed Mom's attention constantly since Dad and Gabe weren't home then, and thirteen-year-old Joey just couldn't be bothered since he had to watch three-year-old Maury.

That left me alone, looking at Mom's "game."

I'm proud to say I beat that training course program three times before Mom returned.

Of course, Mom was furious.

But I suppose it was just because she was worried. I mean, computer hacking is essentially a part of criminal behavior and activities. Mom had spent years to build up good reputation with her work, just to keep the cops and, potentially, homeland security from knocking at our door. I know she has a register somewhere within the government that stated she was a hacker; one who worked for Future of Privacy Forum, not some organized criminal gang whose goal was profit.

Mom made me swear to never touch that program ever again. But, of course, I was too young to understand why.

I know now that it was because she was trying to protect me. But at that time, I just thought she was mad at me for playing her game…

A game that was too fun to not want to try and play again.

So, many times, in the middle of the night, I would sneak out of bed and go to Mom's computer and play the game until I got sleepy and had to turn it off and go back to bed.

And each time, I got a little better.

It was like that for four years, and it only got worse after Gabe died when I was nine. Instead every few nights or every other week, I went back to the program every night; sometimes staying on it until sunrise. It was a good distraction from my anger and pain at Gabe's tragic loss, and the fear of airplanes crashing into the Pentagon—which was only a few blocks away from where we lived—once again.

Yeah, I was at home, sick from the common cold, when I heard Flight 77 overhead, followed by that terrible explosion.

…

…

But even with all the time I spent on that program, I never actually hacked any computer or mainframe until I was sixteen.

And that was only because I wanted answers to what happened to Leo.

…

…I don't want to talk about Leo right now…

…

…

In fact, I don't want to think about Mom. Remembering her role in my life just makes me miss her all the more, and missing her makes me worried for her all over again.

The last time we talked to each other was over two months ago, she told me that she was diagnosed with staph infection in her bloodstream. That's just as deadly as leukemia.

Amy has been keeping updated on her condition, but I know my parents are struggling to keep the treatments up due to money.

Mom was our major source of income. Dad's paycheck as a paramedic was barely holding keeping their heads over the water since Maury and Derek were still living with them. And just recently Joey's twin four-year-old daughters, Isabel and Sophie, have moved in with them until Joey and his fiancé could find an affordable place to move into in Baltimore.

…

Is it no wonder that I hate my position in life now?

And yet…

…

…

And yet, I have to stay where I am. If nothing else, to protect them. Abstergo Industries must never know that Nikola Takeuchi-Kestrel exists, and that she's operating under a false name within one of their own cooperate branches.

If the rumors I heard were true…heck if the fine print in my job contract has anything to say about it…I'll be dead when they find out.

I might as well have signed my death warrant.

Something warm and furry wraps itself around my legs. I look down and see Scotty's big blue eyes.

I have to smile. Scotty is my one anchor in this whole city. Always there when I need him.

I pick him up and carry him into my bedroom and place him on my mattress-bed—really for a nicely furnished apartment, they couldn't afford to get a decent bedframe in here?—then I went back to the kitchen to grab a can of Pepsi before returning to the bedroom. I grabbed my laptop from the desk; the scrambler still stuck in its socket, and sat down comfortably on the mattress.

As I waited for the laptop to boost up, I opened the can of Pepsi and took a large swig, the caffeine slowly giving me the energy boost I need to keep the Animus drowsiness at bay for the moment. I felt Scotty make himself comfortable on my foot—what is it about my feet that he finds them as perfectly comfortable pillows?

I took another swig of Pepsi and then placed the can on the floor as I opened up Raizel, and started typing.

* * *

_**What is Abstergo's true purpose?** _

_Creating a New World order._ _The purpose of this New World Order seems to be a concept of worldwide peace for humanity under Abstergo's control and supervision._

* * *

_**Who is running Abstergo? Is there a chain of command?** _

_The order known as the Templar Order, a long-going, perhaps ancient, order of individuals dedicated to the creation of a New World Order. I cannot say how long they've actually existed, but I have found evidence that they've been active since at least the Renaissance. If they have existed since even before that, I cannot be sure. However, there is a slight mention of them in the Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad evaluation analyst. Nonetheless, I cannot be sure if the Middle Ages Templar Knights and this Templar Order are one and the same._

_Chain of command is still widely unknown and full of speculation. But it seems reasonable to believe that the head of Abstergo is the Grandmaster—the highest position in the Templar Order. However, as of early 2012, the former head of Abstergo had conceded control of the company to an unknown individual. Whoever this person is has yet to make a true official appearance to the public._

_I strongly believe however that my supervisor, Melanie Lemay, the Project Supervisor of the Sample 17 Project, and Abstergo Entertainment's CCO Olivier Garneau are near the bottom of the chain of command. They are the "face mask" of what Abstergo wants the public to think._

* * *

_**Who is opposing Abstergo?** _

_Although I don't have any solid proof of their continued existence, I believe that another order, known as the Order of Assassins are in opposition of Abstergo's control. It seems to me that these Assassins have been fighting the Templar Order just as long as the Templar Order has existed. However, if they still exist, I cannot find them._

_But who is clearly opposing Abstergo is the Erudito Collective. A collective of several people who are working to make various concealed truths about the corporation known to the public. I don't know if this collective is, or is part of, the Assassin Order, but I do owe them for opening my eyes._

* * *

_**What is Abstergo doing now?** _

_Everything that Erudito has showed me convinces me that Abstergo wants to control the world in the name of peace. To do that they have to be subtle, but the consequences have to be heavy. For example, they use the manipulation of the mother-and-child image to make people buy their nano-mite lace products in the thought that they are protecting their children, when instead they are handing them over to be used as future tools._

* * *

_**Project Legacy's final purpose?** _

_Project Legacy was another form of this manipulation and an experiment on people. They were looking for new ways to get at people's genetic codes while trying to influence or control their minds. Genetics are what links us to the past and Abstergo wants to use the past for their own ambitions._

* * *

_**Why brainwash people?** _

_Brainwashing is the most bloodless way to get a person on your side. Because the person doesn't understand what they're doing, or question why._

* * *

_**What was Liberation's true purpose? Why alter Aveline de Grandpré's genetic memories?** _

_Liberation was the true result of what Abstergo could do in manipulating our history. They find past individuals like Aveline, who had contact with the Templar Order, and make it seem that they are loyally affianced with the Order. And because these individuals are seen as "heroes" they are tools the Order uses to get people onto their side. It's once again about manipulation into ideals without having to broadcast your ideals and risk opposition._

* * *

Power and Control…

That's all there was too it.

Yet I couldn't help but stare at the paragraphs I wrote. Especially the ones for the questions " _ **What was Liberation's true purpose?**_ _" and "_ _ **Why alter Aveline de Grandpré's genetic memories?**_ _"_

That's what they plan to do with Edward isn't it?

This new game that Abstergo Entertainment is going to be making…it's just yet another piece in Abstergo's game to control the world in the name of a New World Order.

There isn't going to be true historical fact in this game is there? This game is not going hold Edward's true memories! It's going to hold **falsified** memories! Memories that have been put through the Photoshop program to make them look better! And the public won't be any the wiser, because people naturally take the written word as the truth, especially when it comes to entertainment!

And they're using me…making me become the crafter of their latest new tool.

_**Why**_ haven't I figured this out sooner?!

Abstergo Entertainment wasn't about capitalization! It was about making new tools to trick more people into obtaining Abstergo's ideals!

The Pepsi can bends and crumples into a new shape in my hand, whatever soda was still in there is now spilling over my fingers and dripping onto the hardwood floor.

I don't pretend to even take notice.

I was mad; if not for my sake, then for Edward's.

If he knew about this, that he was being used like this, I just know he'd be _**pissed off**_.

But since he can't know and he's not around to be informed, I'll be pissed off for him.

…

…

…

…

That Pepsi is going to ruin the floor isn't it?

Ugh…idiot!

I toss the out of shape can—if it could still be called a can—in the small recycle bin in my room—two points!—shake out my wet hand, move the laptop off my lap and pulled my foot free from under Scotty's muscular bulk.

I need to wash my hand before it gets all sticky and find where I put the washcloths and clean up the mess.

Geez, what a waste of good caffeine.

Still, I thought as I washed off my hand in the sink, it's probably a good thing Edward isn't around.

My pirate can at best be described as: rowdy, hot-tempered, and bit of a loose cannon. So who knows what he would do.

Probably march on Abstergo Entertainment and kill everybody involved with the tampering of his memories in there.

Okay, maybe not that drastic, but who knows with that guy.

…

Wait…

…

Had I seriously call Edward "My Pirate"?

Oh my god.

"Caffeine!" I said out loud to an empty room—is this going to become a common occurrence? Me talking to an empty room? "I need caffeine! Now please!"


	12. A Man Called A Sage

I stared in disbelief at the secretary. "I'm allowed to what?"

"Melanie wanted me to pass on to you that you're allowed to extend to the full three-hour limit," the secretary repeated smoothly, though I could detect a strong hint of confusion in her undertone.

"But…but this only my third-session! I thought it'd be at least a full week before I could do the full limit!"

Something's fishy here. I've only been working here for three days and they're making me go the full limit with the Animus four days early?

If that don't set off red flags and alarm bells, I don't know what would.

But the secretary shrugged her shoulders in perplexity. "I understand it either," she told me, "I've been working this job since Abstergo Entertainment went up last year, but you're the first person who's ever been given permission to go ahead early. Anyone else ended up being moved to different departments. Perhaps the Animi just works differently for different people?"

"Moved to different departments"? Ha! I'd bet a thousand bucks that isn't what really happened to them.

But there's an even larger mystery…

The Animus machines…

What exactly were the Animi anyway? I mean, obviously besides machines that can make a virtual reality that allows its user to read genetic memory, and project that memory onto an external screen…in 3D no less?

The idea that humans could create such a thing? Preposterous! Even with all the modern advances we made this last decade, I doubt we're that close to creating anything like the Animus.

And yet, here they are.

But why?

But I don't have time at the moment to ponder on the mystery. I have a job, no matter how much I hate and resent it, to do.

I swear if there was some way to hack into the network of these Animi, coming here would be worth it. There's got to be a lot more useful information on that network on Abstergo then I'll ever find on the Internet. But so far every attempt I've tried at home has meet with failure.

It seems Cloud servers—or, at least, just the one the Animus Omega uses—was a whole different ball game compared to hacking a mainframe or the Internet.

The secretary gave me a helpless look, "If you want I could contact John from IT. He could probably give you some answers. He knows the Animi better than any of us."

I shook my head and waved my hand dismissingly. "No, no," I said, trying to sound reassuring, "It's alright. If the bosses upstairs say it's alright, then it's alright. Besides, I should feel lucky for having a step-up from my peers in something."

The secretary gave me a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Good. That means my acting skills as a rather eager noobie is going well. "Yes, of course! Have a good day, Gabbi!"

Ugh…

Gabbi?

Pfaugh!

What the hell was I thinking when I chose a name so familiar to Gabe's three years ago? Must have been a fit of depression that made me choose it.

Still…

It's too strange to ignore that the "bosses upstairs" want me to spend more time in the Animus so soon.

But as I set my communicator down, and began to reach for the Animus headset, a sudden thought occurred to me.

" **He** had _better_ be **alone** when I get in there."

If I walk-in on another session of Edward-Kenway-style birds and the bees after that last one nearly traumatized me, I'm going to scream.

A lot…

And LOUD…

* * *

Thankfully for me, Edward was indeed alone when I returned his world…

Well, alone in the sense that there was no woman hanging around him.

Instead, he was at the docks with Captain Rogers, and Edward was explaining to him something about…giving a merchant a false name?

Okay! What did I miss here?

I felt a familiar wave of annoyance coming off Edward.

Ah! That explained it.

The last time I felt this particular wave of annoyance was in the presence of the one and only Stede Bonnet when he was doing something so carelessly stupid.

I twisted my body around slightly to follow Edward's stern gaze into a direction somewhere behind me.

And there was Bonnet, standing not too far away—maybe only three or four yards—next to a wagon. He could easily be heard from that distance even with all the bustle around these docking areas, where new trade products were coming in rapidly this morning—yesterday the activity around here was a lot less energetic.

"Well, what did you do this time to piss Edward off?" I wondered out loud looking at Bonnet's innocent face.

Oh dear…

He's obliviousness, isn't he?

I keep my eyes on the blonde merchant's face and figure as I hear Edward say, in the most annoyed tone of voice I have heard from him yet. "We'll catch up, Bonnet. _Later_."

…

And there's the realization that he had done something stupid. Not a good look on Bonnet, the poor guy.

But I couldn't pity the poor man for more than a few seconds when I felt something else flow over me—something I don't think was coming from Edward this time.

Ever heard Spider-Man say "My spidey-sense is tingling"? Well, that's the best way I can describe this indescribable feeling of something dangerous closing in.

In that moment I suddenly synchronized with Edward and I was surprised. But as the steadily growing controlled calmness of Edward's emotions, and his oddly eager curiosity over something I could not name, came over me, the dreaded sense seemed to float away like steam from hot water.

Edward's curiosity was strong, and I had to wonder what it was that has gotten him so interest. Did something happen between the time I left and when I returned to him?

" _Rest well, Duncan. Tomorrow the Treasure Fleet arrives, and with it your reward. After which, we will discuss further schemes."_

" _I look forward to it."_

" _Excelente! Meet me down at the docks, first thing tomorrow morning."_

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

Okay, just what is going on?!

Now I can read—sort of—his memory without him being unconscious? None of this was mentioned ANYWHERE in Melanie's lecture about what to expect when synchronizing with Edward.

So, either she was lying/deliberately holding back information…

Or this has never happened before…

…

_**GRAAAAAAAAAAHHH**_!

…Sometimes you just got to yell…

* * *

"Here he is, a man both Templars and Assassins have sought for over a decade!" the old man Templar announced to his comrades.

It didn't take long for Torres to arrive at the docks, along with du Casse and El Tiburón. He led the men to a straw roof canopy not too far away. Under the canopy, we could see someone sitting on box. The yellow headband, the unwashed shirt and breaches, the unkempt long dark hair, the barely trimmed long mustache, the presence of shackles on his wrists, and the fact that there were soldiers surrounding the canopy, left little doubt.

This man was seafarer and a prisoner.

Is this the Sage Torres mentioned?

He didn't look like a Sage.

At least…until he looked up.

I didn't like it.

Ever heard the saying that some people could just smell trouble?

This one reeked of it.

This man Torres brought Edward—and I—to meet. There was something wrong about him; something strange within the depths of his gold and blue heterochromia eyes on his dry bloodied and half-bruised face—signs of resistance that earned him a beating in order to bring him to heel.

I couldn't really explain it, but I swear when you looked at him in the eye…you could see power…power of a dangerous sort that could mean the death of you.

It was making me queasy by just looking at him.

And the worst thing?

The way he looked at Edward…it was like he was looking right through Edward…and instead was looking at me.

Which is just impossible since no one can see me, and yet…

And yet…

It was like he could.

It was possibly the scariest thing I ever saw. I drew back, deeper into Edward's mind, allowing his emotions to cover me like a blanket.

But still, it felt like he could still see me.

My attention was drawn off this strange man with the even stranger eyes when Torres started speaking—and for once I was glad he did, if only to draw my attention away from the stranger and his all-too-knowing gaze.

"I am told your surname is Roberts," the old man said to the man they called The Sage. Interestingly, the old man got close enough to the prisoner—Roberts?—to make it look like he was looming over the other man, whom I have no doubt was actually taller. "Is that so?"

The prisoner called Roberts merely cocked his head to the side, in a show of what I could only describe as "What Do You Think?" but it was neither a confirmation nor a denial.

Roberts it is then.

Torres moved on, pulling the cube out of his pocket, Roberts eyes slid down toward it. "You recognize this, I think?"

It wasn't a question, even if it sounded like one, so Roberts didn't answer.

El Tiburón reached down and grabbed a hold of one of Roberts' restrained arms and yanked them forward, nearly pulling Roberts off his seat. Roberts had to straighten his arms forward and brace his feet hard against the ground to avoid sliding off. El Tiburón's hand slid down until it latched onto one of the manacles clasped onto Roberts wrists. Torres' second raised the Sage's bonded wrists up, presenting the barely healed cuts on the Sage's fingers, and kept them up and held steady.

But it wasn't like Roberts was even trying to put up a fight.

Not even when Torres forced the pad of the Sage's barely healed thumb to press hard against the one of the cube's six faces. I knew that it had to hurt because I saw Roberts' mustache twitch and his eyes narrowed just a fraction, but he didn't make a sound.

"According to the old tales…"

I think all eyes expect Torres and Roberts—I can't tell with El Tiburón due to his helmet—were drawn to du Casse, who remained oddly silent during this meeting until now. "The blood of a Sage is required to enter the Observatory."

Blood of a Sage?

…

Some of the oldest myths, legends and even ceremonies of our time were about blood.

There's the story of the blood of either Uranus or Chronos that birthed Aphrodite, the blood of Adonis which created the rose, and the infamous stories of vampires needing blood to survive, for example.

But behind all these stories, it portrays how blood represents the physically essence of life and the life-force of person. Blood can also symbolize the mortality of a person and as a way to show that people are able to experience pain and death without fear, or even as a binding oath that could never be broken.

It's where the theme of blood rituals and blood sacrifices came from after all.

But all these stories were just that…

Stories…

They were things to tell little kids around the campfire or in a classroom, or for writers and authors to draw their creative inspirations and muses from.

And what about the Sage part?

From what I could understand about Sages, they usually were portrayed as old men in long robes. The elderly-ness of the old man is what represents long life and wisdom. Thus Sages are symbols of those who lived a long life and have gained wisdom in their years and experiences.

Roberts certainly wasn't an old man—at least from what I could see.

No grey hair…not even one strand of silver.

But then again this is the eighteenth century…

How many people were lucky enough to reach Torres' old age?

Not very many, I can tell ya. Especially, in comparison of all those that have died well before their time if the history books have anything to say about it.

So okay maybe Roberts is an old man.

If that's the case…

Then Torres is ancient, walking, talking fossil in comparison to Roberts.

Heh!

…But seriously, all joking aside, everything I have learned from these Colonial Templars, what their type of methods are, all in order to create the New World Order all Templars want to build…

The Observatory…

It just sounded too much like a fairy tale…far too unusual to be real…

And this is coming from someone who's currently viewing the past from a highly advanced machine back in the twenty-first century.

How strange is that?

Besides, how can a man like Roberts—as strange as he is—know truly anything about something that is a fantasy?

…

Isn't it?

Well…if those spikes of interest have anything to say, it would be that Edward doesn't agree about the Observatory being a pure myth.

I didn't need to read his thoughts to know that a germ of an idea was beginning to take took in Edward's head…

Torres once again brought my attention out of my—and Edward's—thoughts when he held up the cube for his gathered allies to see.

There was a large drop of blood inside it now. I didn't even see any signs on how it got in, there was no residue trail leading into the cube.

That blood could have only come from the Sage, whose thumb I could clearly see was bleeding, though Roberts was quick to wrap the fingers of the same hand the bleeding thumb was attached to, around the bleeding thumb, tucking it securely under the strong digits.

Lacking a proper Band-Aid, it was the best he could do to stem the flow of blood leaking out of his thumb, until someone treated it properly.

…oh wait, this is the eighteenth century, no one knew the existence of germs yet.

"We have the key," Torres said, his face nearly splitting in a smile, "Now we need only its location." The smile disappeared as quickly as it appeared when Torres looked back at Roberts. "Perhaps Mister Roberts will be eager to provide it."

Roberts did not say a word. Heck, he didn't do anything except look at Torres.

But it was enough to irk the old man. "Transfer him to my residence," he ordered his second-in-command.

El Tiburón nodded towards the officers guarding the canopy, Torres walked out with Captain Rogers and du Casse flanking him. Edward was a bit slower, needing to put up his hood—for whatever reason—but fell into step behind Captain Rogers and Torres. Once Roberts was up on his bare feet and flanked on all three sides by officers, El Tiburón took the lead of the group and they all started following after him.

"Such a fuss over one man. Is the Observatory really such a grand prize?" Edward/I asked.

" _Sí, en realidad_ ," Torres answered, "The Observatory was a tool built by the Precursor race. It's worth is without measure."

Precursor race?

…The divine Madeleine de L'Isle hinted at? Could they be one and the same?

"Precursor race... I see," Edward—purely Edward this time—replied.

He didn't see…I knew he didn't see. He couldn't. He's thinking of primitive cultures, not something far more stranger then what he could ever imagine.

Huh?

Did something just run across the rooftop nearby?

As I tried to get the best look I could through Edward's eyes—I'm forced to see only in the direction he is facing—Torres spoke up again, "One of your early letters mentioned the desire to kill the Mayan Mentor, Ah Tabai. Were you able to carry out this contract before coming here?"

Mentor?

…

Wait…hold it…back up!

Surely he's not talking about the Assassin Mentor?

Could he?

…The shadow on the roof…

Oh god!

They're here!

The Assassins! _**The**_ Assassins!

I ignored Edward's badly fumble of an excuse of why "he" failed to carry out "his" contract, and listened intensibly on what the old man was going to say next.

"A pity," Torres sighed, "But the maps you delivered with this vial will see that job finished."

Oh god, no! He didn't!

Edward—no Duncan!—he _**was**_ one of them! He _**was**_ of the Assassin Order! He was supposed to deliver those maps—

_**The maps**_!

Oh god, are they what I think they are? Locations? To secret Assassin hideouts?!

Then that means…

Oh god, Edward, what have you done?!

"Aye. That's the idea," Edward went on, oblivious to what I just realized.

Edward had not taken on the identity of any sort of assassin…he had taken on the identity of a turncoat—a traitor—to an Order of which I have learned to respect since I first saw them in Project Legacy back in 2010.

And now they're here…

This…is gonna get ugly.

"I don't like this route, Torres," Captain Rogers piped up from where behind Edward—he had fallen behind the pirate at some point when I wasn't paying attention. "We're exposed."

Du Casse sensed it to. "Something is wrong. Stay close Grand Master!"

Now Edward was catching onto the feeling. He tensed up slightly and tightened his hands into fists, getting ready to release the spring-loaded blades that adorned his wrists with a moment's notice. Torres decreed that they must not let them—no doubt the Assassins—get their hands on the Sage, at whatever the cost.

"Whatever the cost" he says?

No doubt that cost must surely include at the cost of their own lives, as well as anyone else that gets in their way.

…

Typical Templar tactics.

…

I remember my father once telling me something he learned during all his years as a paramedic on the District Of Columbia Fire Department: If you don't put any value on your own life, then you're either a fool or have a death wish. If you don't put any value in other people's lives…

Then how can you say you know what's best for them?

I came to the conclusion a long time ago that the Templars, while noble in their intensions and not necessarily wrong in their ideals and ideology about order being the pathway to peace, are too rash, and too impatient. Too focused on what they want, instead of worrying on how they were doing it. They made the easy decisions, rather than the hard ones—especially when it came to thinking about the details, the little stuff, such as how their actions could harm a single soul, not just the greater whole.

And it's the details that are the things the make the most difference, be it for one life or one million lives.

So, no, I don't hate the Templars for their beliefs or their ultimate goal of peace, but I do not agree with their too effective methods.

And that is why I really hate the old man.


	13. Here Comes Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing action scenes, they never seem to good enough to me, so I apologize if my action scenes sound weak or are too fast. I envy anyone who can write a good action scene.

You can't really explain a fight or battle or whatever when you're in the moment, but I'll try my best.

All I can say is, the next thing I knew Edward was in the middle of a fight as Assassins—yes, Assassins. The hoods and the hidden blades gave them away—dropped down from above and into the central plaza where Edward and the Templars had just walked into.

I saw Edward grab one of the pistols Captain Rogers gave him and he took aim at one Assassin that had locked blades with du Casse. With one load bang, the Assassin was on the ground, dead from the bullet to the head.

I heard someone fire another shot, followed by Edward's second shot. Two more Assassins were on the ground, followed by a third a moment later.

With his bullets used, Edward sheathed the empty pistols back into their holsters and drew out his cutlasses, just in time to cross blades with an Assassin. But the Assassin's hidden blade broke under the weight and power of Edward's cutlass, and he didn't have time to dodge the strike from the cutlass in Edward's other hand.

I could only wince at the sound of metal stinking into flesh, and metal being pulled out just as fast, a spray of blood whipping out behind the blade.

That blow, like the gunshots, was aimed to kill instantly.

"Watch the streets and allies!" I heard du Casse shout from somewhere, though I don't know who he was trying to warn—maybe all of us, as Edward blocked another blow coming at him. "They could be anywhere!"

Edward used his strength to push his new opponent off balance, and he was quick to strike at the heart. The Assassin was dead before he knew what hit him.

The world blurred, and then Edward was running on pure fighting instinct. No true thought, just reactions. Sometimes I could hear someone shout something, but I couldn't really grasp the words.

It surprisingly made the battle seem last only a few seconds when it really was much longer.

By the time I was able to focus again, we were in a different part of Havana, much closer to the governor's mansion. Edward did a quick look around.

Everyone expect for one officer was accounted for. Du Casse had torn sleeve stained with blood, but he didn't look too worse for wear. Captain Rogers' shirt was torn, but it seemed he escaped from getting injured even with the blood splatters on his coat. Even the old man Torres had escaped injury although his jacket could have done better—I could count at least three slash marks.

The Templars had surrounded Roberts and the two remaining officers—one with blood splashed onto his coat—were holding Roberts shoulders tightly.

But suddenly, in the blink of an eye, an Assassin landed on the officer with the blood splattered coat, crushing the officer to the ground, a surprised and pain yowl escaped from his pale lips, startling the Templars. But the officer was dead before he hit the pavement from a hidden blade into the neck.

As more Assassins rained down around us, Roberts jerked in surprise at the suddenness of the ambush from above, causing the second officer to let go of the Sage to try and attack the ambusher. But the Assassin was ready for him, knocking the sword out of his hand.

As Roberts moved to get out of the way, I saw another Assassin dropped down from above. Only this one didn't have any kind of sword on him. Instead he pulled a long reed tube off his back—a blowpipe! Aveline had one of those!

The Assassin was quick to bring the pipe to his lips and with a hard blow, I could actually see the hardwood dart come projecting out of the tube and come flying right at Edward.

I think we both let out a loud yell of surprise and pain when we felt the dart pierce through the fabric of Edward's shirt and sink into the flesh at the collarbone, just missing the base of Edward's throat.

The pain was enough to stop Edward in his tracks as he was trying to run at the Assassin with the blowpipe. He grasped the dart and pulled it out before whatever was coated on its tip had any time to inject anything into his bloodstream, but the sudden yanking had worsened the pain blooming at his collar, like hot wires imbedded into his skin, which sent him to his knees.

Having successfully stunned Edward, the Assassin dropped his blowpipe and went at Roberts. But instead of attacking the bound Sage, the Assassin was instead wrestling to get the manacles off Roberts' wrists.

So Roberts was indeed the target of their attack! They were trying to rescue him!

But…

I could only stare in surprise when Roberts suddenly grabbed the wrist of the Assassin that freed him from the manacles and…forced the Assassin to stab his own throat with the hidden blade.

That…bastard…

Killing his own rescuers?! The one's risking their lives for his?!

I knew there was something wrong about him!

Roberts took off running.

And, no surprise really, Edward, despite the pain in his collar, went right after him. He didn't need Torres to order him to do it—he was intent on not letting the Sage get away from him.

And Edward makes good on his intentions.

* * *

To make a long story shot: Edward caught Roberts and brought him back to where the Templars were.

It took a rough tackle into the hard unyielding cobblestone street and a pistol—an empty one at that—pointed to his head, but Roberts gave in and didn't try to run again. Although he did mutter, "Well done, Lap-Dog."

"Quiet!" Edward hissed as he jerked Roberts none-to-gently back onto his feet.

Finally—Finally!—I de-synched from Edward, letting out the biggest sigh, combined with a groan, of relief.

Viewing a battle or a fight from Edward's prospective isn't as easy as it sound. The chaotic flurry of battle made whole thing becomes mind-numbing, and it becomes really hard to keep focus. Everything is happening so fast and it gets so disorienting, mucking my mind and turning it to cotton wool. It makes it hard to remember what was going on.

As I rubbed my head, trying to clear the cobwebs and get back to focusing, I felt a pricking sensation on my back—the kind you get when you think someone is coming up behind you. I did a quick look over my shoulder.

I think I caught Roberts's copper gold eye was looking in my direction, but Edward was pushing him to get going, grabbing onto Roberts' shoulder.

The sensation fell away from my back, but as I followed behind Edward, I couldn't let go of this sense that Roberts was trying to sneak glances over his should. But every time he tried, Edward would give him a shove.

And strangely enough, for once, I was glad Edward was being overtly and little more than necessary rough with Roberts. Normally I wouldn't put up with stuff like that unless it was required. But I think I would be glad for anything that was keeping Roberts' strange eyes away from my direction, even if it were something I would be disapprove of.

Although I can't fathom why I felt so anxious whenever those eyes were looking my way. It just didn't make sense to me. No one could see me. I was an invisible ghost in a highly advanced machine. Why would I be so worried about someone looking in my direction? They would look right through me, and not know I was standing right there.

So what's with all this anxiety?

Something is really wrong here.

It WAS a relief—scary!—when we made it back to the Templars. None of them worse for wear, though El Tiburón was sporting a few new scratches and dinks on his armor, Torres was missing a cuff, Captain Rogers had a small bleeding cut on his forehead and each had more blood splatters on their clothing. I saw that none of the officers had survived.

They were quick to spot Roberts and Edward and made their way over. I noticed Torres was limping slightly as he came up to us. I think I remember having seen him on the ground at some point during the Assassin's ambush just before Roberts ran off, so the fall must have caused some damage to his older more brittle body.

As soon as he was close enough, El Tiburón reached and grabbed onto Roberts' other shoulder and took over for Edward, giving the pirate a slight nod of his helmeted head. Edward inclined his head in response, and then reached into a pouch on his belt that held his spherical bullets to re-load his empty pistol. When Roberts looked and saw this, he frowned deeply.

I had to cover my mouth with one hand to stiffen any giggles—even though no one would hear them—when I saw that he just realized that Edward's firearm had been empty the whole time he had been recaptured. But I continued to be careful in continuing to avoid looking at his eyes.

As Edward reloaded his pistols, I watched du Casse—his bloody arm was now sporting a makeshift bandage, from his own skirt if I had to guess—start to follow El Tiburón, who was now forcibly leading Roberts away. "We'll see him to the prisons, Grand Master," the weapons smuggler promised the old man.

"Double the watch," Torres ordered after them.

With every step Roberts took away from me, I found myself breathing a little easier—when did I tense up?—and by the time he disappeared from view with El Tiburón and du Casse, I was completely at ease. It was almost as if something dark and scary had just passed by and decided I wasn't worth anything to it so it left me alone.

Which is just completely illogical!

But then, nothing really makes sense in this Animus.

"Well, I'll be buggered!" I jumped slightly and turned swiftly to look at Captain Rogers. "What an active day we've had, gents!"

…

Is he actually cheerful?! He was just in a bloody battle! He could have lost his life!

…but then again, he's a pirate hunter, right? He must live for battles like this. To him, battle must be an adrenaline run.

…A very sickening kind of adrenaline run…

Yeesh!

" _Sí_ ," Torres agreed, though his tone was nowhere near cheerful. It aired more on the side of caution—as it should I suppose. "Beset on all sides by our enemies. We must be more cautious."

"I do wish I could remain to see our drama done!" Captain Rogers continued on, his voice still caught up in its cheerfulness—it's making me want to keep a few steps away from him. Cheerfulness does not fit on a face like his. "But I must avail myself of these winds and sail for England."

Torres nodded his understanding and shook Captain Rogers' offered hand. "By all means, Captain. Speed and fortune to you."

Captain Rogers smiled—another thing that just did not fit on his face—and then shook hands with Edward. "With luck, I'll return myself a governor. And with my idiot King's blessing, no less. _¡Adiós!_ "

Governor Rogers?

I could feel in Edward's emotions that he did not like the sound of that. Neither did I truth be told.

A pirate hunter, a government official _**and**_ a secret Templar all in one?

Not a good combination for Edward or his kind.

It certain isn't something that leaves a pleasing taste in my mouth either.

Especially since it makes me wonder just exactly how many Templars are secretly within the governments of the world…in this century and in mine.

Big business corporation is one thing, government is quite another. But both are places I wouldn't want the Templars to be in…in any century.

Torres once again pulled me out of my thoughts. "As for you, Mr. Walpole… I consider this the first payment in a long-term investment."

From somewhere on his belt behind his back, the old man pulled out a handbag that could fit in the palm of your hand. It was rather stuffed with coins—some coins were making impressions against the fabric, showing just exactly how stuffed it was.

Ah! That must Edward's long-waited reward…a reward stained with the blood of Assassins.

Blood money…the worst kind of money out there.

But Edward wouldn't agree. I just knew he would not. He did all this—killing Walpole, delivering those _**stupid**_ maps, killing the Assassins coming to rescue Roberts—all for that bag of gold.

I felt the urge to knock it out of the old man's hand as Edward reached for it. But it wouldn't do me any good. My hand would just pass through it. So I had to settle for merely crossing my arms as Edward took the reward from the old man.

" _Gracias_ ," Torres thanked.

Huh? What the?

A spike of dissatisfaction shot through me from the man next to me.

What the heck was wrong with Edward now?

What does he have to be disappointed about?

"Obliged," Edward replied, though if you listen closely enough he didn't sound very pleased.

"I would like you to be present for the interrogation tomorrow," Torres told him before he started to leave, "Call around noon."

"Yes, sir."

As we both watched the old man leave and disappear into the crowd, I felt Edward becoming more and more irritated, and as soon as Torres was out of sight, he began to allow him to express his exasperation by balancing the bag of coins in his hand up in down in a frustrated state.

His irritation was making me irritated as well, if only because I couldn't figure out what his problem was this time. "What is it now?" I said out loud standing in front of him so I could see his face properly since his hood was still up, "Aren't you satisfied? You got your reward! Isn't that enough for you?"

…

I do not like that look on his face.

It could only mean trouble…with a capital T.

* * *


	14. Doesn’t Always Pay

Edward spent the rest of the day in a confusing mixture of exasperation and contemplation sitting on top of bell tower of the Basilica Menor de San Francisco de Asis, leaning his back against the pedestal that held the cross and staring into the direction of the Governor’s mansion. Meanwhile I was sitting—well more like straddling one of these half cylinder-like roof “adorn ornaments” (whatever, I don’t know what they’re called, I’m not an architect), Edward was actually sitting on top of it—in front of him, leaning comfortably back against my hands, but I was looking over at the city instead.

Traveling around by roof instead of the street isn’t something I don’t think I’ve ever thought I’d experience. In the twenty-first century, most buildings are too high or too smooth (or both) to climb or traverse, and the local police wouldn’t allow anyone to just climb around on the buildings that held any potential for climbable conditions—mainly, say, the historic buildings.

Which is a shame because you really miss out on the views you can only see from up high, and it’s surprisingly actually a lot faster to travel around the city without the clutter of people, animals, wagons and kiosks in the way. Not to mention it smells a lot cleaner up here to my near barely existing sense of smell.

But even though I was enjoying the view, I was still uneasy about the look I saw on Edward’s face earlier. I have a strong suspicion that he’s planning something. I don’t know what it is, but I have a feeling I’m not going to like it very much.

However, even with that being a concern, I also couldn’t get my mind off Roberts and how uneasy he made me feel.

To help continue pass the time—Edward has been up here for at least almost two hours by now—and to try and liberate myself from this confusing anxiety about a strange man who has long since died before I was even born, I looked into the Animus Database to find any information on him.

ANIMUS DATABASE SEARCH: ROBERTS EARLY 18TH CENTURY

_…searching…_

_…record found…_

_File #: 2113_

_…open file…_

**_Subject: John Roberts, A.K.A Bartholomew Roberts and Black Bart_ **

**_Born: May 17, 1682. Pembrokeshire, Wales._ **

**_Historically credited as the most successful pirate captain of the 1700 to 1725 “Golden Age of Piracy.” He is credited with having taken more than four hundreds ships in his short career as a pirate._ **

**_Most of the information we have on him comes from the 1724 biography book A General History of the Pyrates. Who wrote the book is still unknown, and it is still unclear what parts of the biography was fact or fiction. The book tells us that Roberts was the so-called exemplary pirate captain, having a love of fine clothing and jewels, yet had an unusual preference for drinking tea rather than rum. It is currently unknown just how accurate this information is._ **

**_Currently attempts to find a descendent of Roberts have been unsuccessful._ **

_…close file…_

That was woefully unhelpful where I need it the most.

A felt a shadow of pain at my collar and I looked over at Edward. His eyes were closed, his jaw was tense and I could see that he was fighting the urge to tense his shoulders. The small wound from the dart he took to the collar, while healing, was still giving him trouble, probably because it was in an area that is constantly put to use. That Assassin knew what he was doing when he blew that projectile at Edward. Even if the intent was to kill, at least successfully shooting an area of the body that would incapacitate the target would leave a persistent impairing effect until the injury was completely healed.

Knowing that, I can’t help but feel a bit sorry for him.

From what I’ve been able to observe during these three sessions, Edward relies heavily on his body to be in good working condition. Climbing up to this rooftop was an agony for the both of us since it was too soon after getting his collar injured. It was a sigh of relief for me when I desynchronized from him, but I could still feel the shadow of the pain Edward was feeling as surely as if it were my own.

I guess that’s a downside of being synchronized and connected with him…

Still…

It doesn’t mean I like the idea that he’s in pain.

I’m not that heartless to jerks, even those who deserve it.

And Edward deserved this pain, even if he didn’t realize it.

But I still don’t enjoy it.

* * *

The sun was setting when Edward finally climbed—climbed not leapt, thank god—down from Basilica Menor’s bell tower. The pain in his collar had finally subsided to a more agreeable tolerance level, but it would no doubt continue to hurt for at least a few more days.

A small hole in your collar even as bandaged up as it was—Edward did somehow manage to bandage it himself—wouldn’t heal over in day.

I followed Edward through the darkening streets, trying to get a beat on his emotions, but they were under his tight control again. I suppose he must have come to some conclusion with whatever it was that has kept his mind occupied during those long hours atop the bell tower of an sixteenth century Franciscan church.

It’s frustrating that I can’t read his mind—even in synchronization; his thoughts have to be pretty strong for me to hear them, and so far it’s only happened once with that unfortunate mugger.

It sure would make my life easier if I knew what exactly he was thinking all the time.

After walking for about ten or fifteen minutes, even with the darkness of the fast-approaching night, I could see Edward had found a little tavern close to the Governor’s private grounds—at least I think that’s what it was if all the officer’s on the other side of that small fence was saying anything.

For a moment, I wonder why Edward came here until I saw that he was, instead of going directly into the tavern, going toward an outdoor table with a lone outline of a person sitting upon one of its bench seat.

It was only when someone lit a close-by lantern that I saw that the figure was the one and only Stede Bonnet.

How on earth did Edward spot him in the dark?

…

Oh wait, duh!

Eagle Vision.

It must make for excellent night vision as well as an out-of-this-world tagging and tracking system.

I saw Bonnet smile when he recognized that it was Edward that was coming toward him when light from the overhanging lantern fell on Edward’s form. He waved the pirate over and invited him to sit down, pushing a large cup of rum—I think I finally figured out what kind of alcohol that they drink is—away from him toward the empty seat on the other side of the table.

I quickened my pace to get to the table first, and stepped up on the empty bench seat Bonnet wasn’t occupying in order to seat myself on top of the table’s top.

So I like to sit on top of tables instead of chairs—big deal!

But as soon as Edward sat down, I nearly blown over by just how strong his anger felt when he nearly slammed the full coin purse Torres had given him onto the table—startling Bonnet, but surprisingly into silence instead of fright, the hand holding bottle of rum he was pouring into the cup he had offered the pirate frozen, his eyes narrowed in a bit of weariness on Edward. He didn’t even notice when the rum was pouring over the offered cup and onto the tabletop.

I could almost feel the warm liquid as ran through the finger tips on one of my hands.

“God sink me for this pittance,” Edward growled, glaring at the purse as if was the cause of his irate mood.

Then again, it suddenly occurred to me that it probably was.

Doesn’t “pittance” mean “nickels” or “dimes” or something of that sort?

“One thousand reales for those maps,” Edward told Bonnet, who finally noticed that he was overflowing Edward’s drinking mug, “That’s what? A hundred pounds at most. How’s a man suppose to become rich in these times with a miser like Torres running the world?”

Ah, so that’s his problem.

He was quite disappointed and displeased with the size of his reward. I supposed he hoped—no he **_had_** very strongly expected to be paid **_a lot_** more then what Torres had given him.

On the hindsight, I really should have known and can only sigh in disappointment at myself.

I mean really, since when are pirates, especially the ones so greedy for fortunes, contented with only one small bag of gold?

That would be: **_Never_**.

No wonder he’s been so irritated all day, and why the look I saw in his face after the governor left made me wary of what Edward was going to do next.

It’s times like these when I realize what was so obvious that I think that instead of wishing I could read his thought, I should just pay attention to him: his thoughts are literally right there, out in the open if only I had paid more attention to his tells.

But then, paying attention to and identifying people’s tells isn’t one of my specialties.

“Have you ever, ah... you ever worked on a plantation before?”

I have to give Bonnet credit. Despite his lack of brains in the common sense department area, he really is a sweetheart.

Too bad Edward doesn’t have it in him to listen to the offered option Bonnet was graciously giving him as any good friend would do when one of their friends was in trouble. His mind was set on whatever plan he had been hatching on in his head all day.

I watched Edward re-hook his new purse back onto his belt and empty his overflowed cup of rum in only a few large gulps. With his cup now hollow of any rum that was only a few seconds ago overflowing it, I watched him pause—almost freeze really—in his seat with his head down, allowing the alcohol to begin its effects in calming himself down.

 And it was working. I could feel his anger calm down immensely.

Once he was calm as he could get, he looked back up and asked, “You know what I'm thinking?”

“Oh no,” I groaned gently slapping my hand against my forehead and I slid it down over my eyes, pushing the glasses I don’t need down and off my nose, the nose pads hooking to my bottom lip, but I couldn’t care less, “Here it comes.”

The trouble with the capital T.

“I'd like to see this Observatory the governor was going on about.”

Yup.

Definably trouble with a capital T.

In fact, maybe the whole word should be capitalized.

I groaned again and allowed myself to fall backwards to lie on my back, my hand still covering my eyes. But I continued to listen as Edward explained to Bonnet, who is no doubt confused at what Edward is talking about having not been at the secret meeting, “He said it were like a device that could follow people around and show where they were.”

Ah, so that’s what the Observatory is supposed to do.

Well, I can see why the Templars would want it. It’s the ultimate spying tool.

And with how successfully they already are at spying in my time, it would just make them that more effect.

If it were real…

I mean really, come on!

An ancient device that has observational performances that is on par with modern-day surveillance technology and techniques?

If such a thing actually existed, then we would have advanced technology long before the Industrial Revolution.

It was just a legend; a mythological story, nothing more.

Really, just how much of fool was Edward?

I put my glasses back on right then I raised myself back up into a sitting position. As I did so, Bonnet spoke up, his response on par with what I was thinking. “A ludicrous idea!” he said after releasing an incredulous laugh.

Agreed. It is ludicrous.

“Imagine my wife with such an advantage over me,” the merchant muttered under his breath.

I don’t think Edward was meant to pick up on that, but the way he responded strongly suggests that did. “Well, imagine what a thing like that would be worth.”

Oh no.

There’s the “face of trouble” I saw earlier. And I can see where this is going.

He wants to chase after fairy tales.

As he stood up, I could see his eyes were un-focusing as if he were looking at something far beyond what he was really seeing.

I’ve seen that look before…

Many times on Leo’s face.

It was a look I had come to despise over the years since his death five years ago.

“Sell that to the right person,” Edward went on to say walking around the bench, “And I'd be the richest pirate—”

I tensed before he did and, nearly at the same, we looked over at our merchant friend to see if he had caught Edward’s slip-up during his immenseness in his get-rich-quick fantasy.

Thankfully, it seemed Bonnet was too engrossed in drinking deeply into his cup of rum to have noticed.

“...privateer in the West Indies,” Edward finished his sentence with the correction as he turned back to look at the Governor’s mansion overlooking this part of the city.

Bonnet finished his drink with a pleased sigh.

A new dreaded feeling came over me as Edward continued to look up at the mansion.

Oh no.

“You’re not thinking of—” I began.

“I'll catch you up, Bonnet. There's a Sage in that house I must speak to. In private.”

“You are,” I sighed and slid off the table before the connection yanked me into following after the pirate.

 Some days it just doesn’t pay to be smart.


	15. Mission Impossible? Nah

Just exactly how inappropriate is it that I have the mission impossible theme song going on in my head right now?

I totally blame Amy for her near obsessiveness with the movie series. I lost count on how many movie nights were spent watching one of those four movies. And no, it wasn’t just because she was a fan of Tom Cruise; she was just big on the spy genre, just like I am with historical/action genre.

But I suppose given the fact that Edward is sneaking in the half-grown cornfields surrounding the back of the governor’s pirate estate grounds, the mission impossible theme song is somewhat appropriate.

However, Edward is no Ethan Hunt.

Where’s Ethan Hunt could sneak around an enemy-filled area like a ghost, Edward is not that skilled.

He’s already killed two officers on patrol with lit lanterns that have wandered to close to where he was hiding. I cannot recall Ethan having to kill anyone while he was sneaking around—but then it’s been a long time since I watched any Mission Impossible movie, and I doubt I’ll be seeing the newest one coming out next year.

And there goes another one. This one was stoking a fire behind a shack of some sort. Why start I fire back here, I have no idea. But I find myself praying that there is no gunpowder, or anything else that could explode in that store house.

I really don’t want to know what it’s to have fire on your back—that is if Edward survives the initial boom.

Okay! Not going down that line of thought!

As we drew nearer to the stone walls, I began to understand what Edward was doing. To get into the private prison house Torres had on his lands, where Roberts was no doubt being held, the first thing that needed to be done was locating the one with the key to getting into the prison house.

I didn’t think Governors had “private” prison houses.

Yeesh, what else don’t I know?

* * *

Finding the officer with the key was surprisingly a lot easier than I thought it would be.

Praise Edward’s eagle vision and a stroke of good luck, I think, on that account.

…so why do I have this pit in my stomach?

Because I’ve noticed how easy it has been for Edward to sneak around and not draw attention even though he’s killed about four officers already. And not all of those kills were silent, especially with the way the officers had yelped before succumbing to Edward’s hidden blade. Truly, I want to believe that the whole Spanish guards around here are rather dumb and unobservant, but ever since I found myself caught in Abstergo’s grasp, life has taught me to be cautious, to question, to think, to look beyond the now.

Something was going on that was causing these men to be careless with their look outs.

But what exactly that is, I do not know.

All I do know is that Edward is blind to all of this, and I have no way of warning him and I want to, desperately, warn him.

…

Why am I getting so protective of this guy? It makes no sense.

He’s been dead long before I was born. He doesn’t exist anymore.

So where does this…desire?...to protect him come from?

What the hell the matter with me?

Deep inside Edward’s head, I shake my own and then press the heels of my palms against the temples of my skull.

For some time now, I’ve been getting this weird “pressure” feeling, but it doesn’t feel like a headache, or a migraine—neither of which I can handle right now. But whatever it is, it seems to escalate whenever an officer gets close to us, and then dissipates in an instance when Edward kills the man.

Not only that, sometimes it seems I can “see” something…a map? Of the nearby surroundings? With moving red dots. And “seeing” it has become more frequent.

…

Edward takes cover in a hay wagon, and then I see it again.

The map.

It’s mostly covered in a red-tint on the right side where the wall facing the ocean, and I can count about six red dots.

One red dot is the exact same place as the officer nearest the wagon Edward took cover in.

…

So, whatever this “feature” is, it’s not eagle vision, but…close to it. It’s more like a radar-map.

And it’s more things Abstergo either left out or do not know anything about.

Just great.

Still…can’t say I don’t enjoy have a radar navigational system in my head.

But what good is it here?

Now I have the biggest urge to bang my head against the nearest wall or hard surface.

Pity that I’m a ghost and currently stuck inside Edward’s head.

…

Okay, the officer is moving away, taking the light of his lantern with him; and the red dot in my “second sight” is moving along with him.

Edward carefully pulls himself out of the wagon and back into the thick patch of foliage plants, and gets moving as fast as he can without making much noise. Once he reached the edge of the cover, he did a quick look around, keeping a particular close eye on the nearby gunner, who was up higher than the officers on the ground.

Once he was sure the gunner wasn’t looking his way, Edward sprinted to back of another shack. But when he caught sight of another officer, he pushed himself into this long crate that was standing upright against the back of the storage shed.

Well, it’s a tight fit, but it works.

While it’s a damn good thing neither Edward nor I are claustrophobic, I can’t help but wonder how long we were going to have to stay in here.

When Edward activated his Eagle Vision and kept his eye on the officer that sent him running into this crate for cover, I couldn’t help but mutter, “God have mercy on that poor officer when Edward loses his patience.”

There’s no “if” here. Either that officer moved or stayed put. Difference was that moving **_could_** mean keeping his life, standing around **_would_** mean losing it.

…

…

…

…

It’s starting to get warm in here.

…

…

…

…

I can feel Edward’s being to sweat.

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

That had better not be Edward I smell.

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

Dammit, you two! **_Do something_**!!

…

…

…

FINALLY, the officer begins to move…towards the back of the shack.

And…he’s dead as soon as he passes the crate.

Yeah, Edward’s not happy being in the crate either. In fact, he hated so much that he’s shoved the newest dead body into the crate.

Well, saves the trouble of having to find a crate for the body, I find myself thinking, as Edward and I took the feel and scent of cool air.

But it’s time to move on. We can just see the “private prison house” isn’t too far away.

It’s not “Mission Impossible,” but…

What the heck, Mission Impossible is fiction. THIS is reality.


	16. In the Face of Capture

We smelled it before we saw it.

Blood.

Fresh, red, salt and rust…a smell you'd never forget…one I'll never forget anyway…violent graphic m-rated movies that involve blood do not include the smell, and I can see why now.

The smell is even worse than the sight, making looking at blood that much more frightening.

Smelling it proves that I can't try and mistake for something else…red paint or whatever it is Hollywood uses to portraying blood…

Hollywood protects us from ever smelling the real deal…

I never gave any thought on how lucky people really are when they don't _**smell**_ the deaths we see on the TV.

…

The sight of the dead bodies made the whole thing worse.

Large splatters of blood…pools sitting underneath bluing bodies…

This is not something you see in the movies…not even on criminal investigation shows…bloods not there in this amount…bodies never blue…

If I could, I would have gotten sick…

Not even watching Edward kill Duncan Walpole, that mugger, those Assassins and the Templar officers made me feel this way. Why? Because I was able to trick my mind into believing that I was just watching another high rated movie, like I always did with Amy before she went to work at Bad Weather that night and Mariana was at school.

Now I know truly that this is no movie…

As Edward, who is no doubt used to the sight and smell of dead bodies—scary thought, but no doubt true, given that this is a time when death was a natural part of everyday life—paused to inspect the closest body, I thought to myself that I was a fool…

"You're an idiot," I muttered to myself in correspondence to my thoughts.

…Always the idiot in some way or another…

…

From what I could pick up from Edward's thoughts, these men died from multiple puncher wounds in the chest—particularly the heart and belly. No animal could have done it, so it had to be a person.

That would explain why all the officers have been so distracted—they were fearful, because someone was loose around the grounds.

Question now is: Who?

Could it be Assassins?

…..no.

Somehow, I don't think that they're this brutal unless they had a very strong reason to be. But we're right outside the prison house where Roberts is. If they were trying to save him again then they would have to be stealthier than this.

The second tenant of their creed is to " _Hide in plain sight_ " and the third tenant is to " _Never compromise the Brotherhood_." That means to be unseen and that one's actions must never bring harm to the whole.

Because of that knowledge, I believe that whatever happened here and what was done to these men are actually rookie mistakes.

And I'm skeptic to believe that they'd send rookies for this job. For I have no doubt that too much blood had already been lost with the first failed attempt. Also I highly doubt that any of those Assassins from before were rookies—Edward's healing collar wound is proof enough of that.

So no Assassin would do this.

But who would?

…I have no idea…

Edward, however, is not bothered by the question of who did this as he moves towards the entrance door to the prison house and goes through, entering the courtyard of the house where more bodies lay in a semi-half-circle. No, he's more thankful that he has fewer officers in his way to get to Roberts.

I guess I should accept that it's not in his nature to think about this stuff, although I really wish he would.

There is a tiny but painful sounding outburst of breath—not really a moan or sigh, just air forced out—sound coming from one of the closest bodies to the right of Edward. The sound is enough to cause Edward to draw attention to the bodies over there.

Oh god, one of them twitched! Someone's alive! Barely, but still alive!

Just as Edward also came to this realization, a shadow appeared on the floor between him and the barely alive officer. Edward jerked his head to look where the shadow was falling, but all I saw was a huge gloved fist coming straight for Edward's face.

Pain exploded in my face.

My vision went dark then filled with static and I could hear the scratch of electricity for a few moments. Usually that's a sign that I had desynchronized from Edward—strange since this the first time that a single hit had cause the de-synchronization.

My feet stumbled backwards, and the heels—those rotten heels—made me lose my balance and I felt myself fall backwards, landing hard on my rump.

Case…in…point…on…thinking…ow…

But I had no time to dwell on about my "case in point" because I heard a familiar voice cut through the air.

" _¡Basta!_ "

Shaking my head to drive away the pain, which I know is not mine, I looked up.

Edward is next to me, on his hands and knees, his nose bleeding all over again. Damn, no wonder that punch hurt. It hit a place that's already been hurt and barely had time to heal completely.

Standing over the pirate and I was El Tiburón. His body posture suggests he was about to hit Edward again when he was suddenly stopped by…I look over to where the bodyguard was glancing…

There standing at the entrance Edward had not five minutes entered through was Governor Laureano de Torres y Ayala, two officers flanking him, and just behind Julien du Casse.

Shit, the Templars have discovered Edward.

But how did he miss them? Where could they have been hiding?

Oh, damn! Edward should have used his Eagle Vision before stepping through the gate.

Too late now, though.

And if I had to guess from the livid look in the old man's eyes, he's figured out that Edward isn't Duncan Walpole.

Double shit!

As the old man and his officers, now unsheathing their cutlass swords, come closer, I scramble to get out of the way—hey, I may be intangible, but I don't appreciate being trampled on, even if no one can see me. I'm not a carpet.

"What is your true name, rouge?" Torres growled more than he asked, as he yanked Edward's hood off of the pirate's head.

Well, if I had any hopes that he _didn't_ realize Edward wasn't who he seemed, it's out the window now. Damn!

And what's Edward's reply to the demanding question as he shakes off the new pain El Tiburón gave him? "It's ah…Captain Pissoff."

Of course, I think with a roll of the eyes. Make an already bad situation worse for you why don't ya?!

Can you tell that I'm worried here? I sure can, even if I can't understand why I should be. Nothing's gonna happen to me.

But something is gonna happen to Edward and I'll be forced to watch. And…

I don't want to see his death.

El Tiburón expectedly didn't like Edward's jab at Torres. He once again was getting ready to hit Edward in the head, but the old man simply raised his arm to block his eager-to-extract-violence second in command.

Du Casse said something in French. If I had to guess, he was calling Edward something low and filthy since I know the word " _paysan_ " means peasant. And historically the French nobility didn't look kindly at the peasant class, even their own—and despite the fact du Casse was more than likely from peasant stock, his demeanor and attitude gave the air of haughty nobility.

Hypocrite.

Edward moved to sit back on his haunches, rather than on his hands and knees—no way was he going to lower himself to such a lowly position in front of his captors. Nor would I want him to 'cause I think I'll hate him if he did.

These bastards wouldn't get the satisfaction of feeling that they had power over him. Even on his knees, Edward was still assertive. While I can't say he's not asking for more trouble, I have to admire his courage in the face of low odds.

If he's to die, even if he can't be on his feet, it'll not be looking at the ground either.

"Where is the Sage?" the old man demanded, though the anger in his voice has been toned down, probably because he realized that he's not intimidating Edward the slightest, "Did you set him free?"

Roberts? He escaped?

…

Well, that explains the mess around the prison house and the tenseness and distraction amongst the guards on the grounds. Roberts had escaped on his own and Torres had found out.

"I had nothing to do with that, much as I wish I did," Edward stated firmly.

The old man believed him. But now he had no leads.

In frustration, the old man thrust his arm about in an order. "Take him to the ports. Send him to _Sevilla_ with the Treasure Fleet."

Sevilla? Did he mean Saville? An important city in Spain?

…shit…

"Wait now!" Edward protested as du Casse and El Tiburón—the strongest men in this group—grabbed a hold his arms, keeping his hands up and away from his weapons still on his belt and holster. "I delivered your treasures!"

"You did, yes," the old man replied as du Casse and El Tiburón started leading Edward out of the prison house, "But you robbed us of Duncan Walpole."

I could only follow and watch as they lead Edward away. He didn't go without a fight, though. But his fierce struggles forced the two Templars to call the nearby officers for aid. Four officers came over to help and I felt my throat tighten when I spotted that one of them was carrying a set of handcuff manacles.

Edward saw it too and struggled harder, but it for not in the end. I could only wince at the sound of metal cuffs locking around strong wrists, feeling a strong sense of hate at myself for not being able to do anything but watch.

Perhaps my feelings about the events that I'm viewing are illogical, but it doesn't make them any less real.

I was scared for Edward for I knew too well what fate laid waiting for captured pirates and I was angry at not being able to do anything to help him.

And if there's one thing I hate, it's being helpless, and from the fiery look on Edward's face as his weapons were searched for and stripped away from him, neither did he. The cutlasses still in their holders were removed, along with the two pistols Captain Rogers had given. Du Casse did not bother to remove the hidden blades by merely unstrapping them; instead he cut them away from Edward's arms with only a few strokes of a very sharp knife he had in his boot.

Once both hidden blades fell onto the stone path, du Casse jabbed the blade against the back of Edward's shoulder, cutting into the seam where the sleeve was attached to the rest of the coat, but stopping just short of piercing any flesh.

I could tell that it was a voiceless threat and a warning that du Casse was ready to use it on Edward if he struggled anymore.

Edward's answer to the unvoiced threat was merely a glare at the Frenchman that was so fierce that it was like he was trying to set du Casse ablaze by merely looking at him.

I guess revulsion for our own helplessness really is something Edward and I have in common, only Edward's not afraid to express it in his captor's faces.

Now restrained and without any weapons, du Casse and El Tiburón forced Edward to resume walking. My pirate only did so in angry begrudge.

…

I called him "my pirate" again, didn't I?

Ugh! Now is not the time.

As we walked into the darken streets, I can see those still lingering around have different reactions: some walk by like they don't even notice or care, other look up then look away, but others would look and sneer at Edward for being a pirate. I hated those ones the most, especially when they threw things like rotten food or even a bottle at him.

The bottles thankfully missed 'cause their former owners were too drunk to throw straight or very far. But some of the rotten food hit Edward dead on.

I could only walk a few paces behind and watch, growing angrier with every step.

Oh if I wasn't a ghost, I'd show them all a thing or two! But I can't, I can only suck in my gut and keep walking. But it doesn't stop me from flipping those bastards off as I walk pass their still scorning faces and postures.

Now I'm not one who likes flipping the bird, but in this case, it's one of the few exceptions.

When we reached the harbor, I saw that it was filled without about twelve ships, all of them being loaded with crates and trunks that appeared to be heavy weighing down the poor docks men doing all the heavy loading.

This must be Torres's mentioned "Treasure Fleet." And if we're talking treasure, then it's takes no stretch of imagination at what exactly that cargo is.

Edward is headed to Spain literally surrounded by treasure.

It may be a dream come true for him if he wasn't a prisoner and headed to Spain to most likely be executed.

But if I know Edward, despite the odds stacked against him, he's not gonna give up.

So neither should I, even if I don't know how he's gonna get out of this one.

I guess, I'll just have to wait and see…

And pray…it can't hurt can it?

* * *


	17. Pirates in the Hold

We've been on this Spanish frigate, _Santa Isabel_ , for about a week now according to the Animus during my latest two sessions with Edward. They have been probably the first most boring times I will have during my Animus observations.

I think I now get why my co-worker, Philippe Chartrand, who is on the same shift as me—although we never talk; he's more interesting in talking to another fellow co-worker, Jennifer Tam—gets so bored during his observations of Edward's father, Bernard, who is apparently a sheep farmer.

I knew Edward was most likely from low-class roots, but I would never expect him to be growing up a farm boy. It's too…classical.

But it would explain a lot—like why he wants to get rich so bad.

Anyway, as I was saying, Edward and I have been stuck in the _Santa Isabel_ 's hold for exactly a week now. We left Havana on the 23rd of July and now it's the 30th. There isn't much for us to do expect try to eavesdrop on whatever conversation the Spanish sailors that come down to the hold are saying—and most of it is just general conversation said in their native language, but sometimes we get something interesting to listen to.

But really it's only to pass the time, which Edward and I have a lot of now, being stuck down here.

At least I still have the freedom to move around some, even if I'm still tethered to Edward by an invisible connection. Edward isn't so lucky.

When he came onto the ship and was loaded into hold, he was forced into a new restraint. I don't know what it is called but it consisted of a pair of large U-shaped iron shackles with holes at their ends. The officers had inserted a long bar with a large knob on one end through the holes and attached it to a pair of iron "staples" driven into the floor and locked it with an iron padlock.

And not only that, the bar was long enough that Edward had acquired a "tether" mate, who was also a pirate, captured like Edward, although the guards didn't offer any details on how he got captured.

His mate was a muscularly broad man—broader then Edward by far, who was more towards lean broad then heavy muscular broad. He had a lot scars from what I could see on his body, but especially on his face. Three long vertical scars under each eye, almost like tears, and three vertical ones running down from just under his bottom lip and down his chin. Also, just under his left eye was a black mark where it looked like something had dug into the skin and pulled a few layers off—like an old severe burn.

My father, being a paramedic going into dangerous situations, like fires, had acquired such scars while helping those who needed his medical skills. He got some on his arm while helping rescue people from the Pentagon when it was still on fire from the 9/11 attack.

But the most interesting thing about Edward's tether mate was the fact that his skin was black…

And every American in my time knows the basic general early history of the black people in the Americans and the Caribbean…Prior to the American Civil War in the 19th century—about a hundred and fifty years from now—the people captured and brought in from African and their descendants were slaves.

I never thought in a million years that I'd see a former—or in this case, is it escaped?—slave be part of a gang of pirates. And from what I could overhear and understand from the Spanish said about him, he was quite an experienced pirate.

History sure has a way of surprising you.

However that was about as much as I knew about Edward's mate. He never said a word during the whole week we've been stuck done here. Nor did Edward badger him into talking.

But it was not like Edward was disgusted at the fact that he was fastened next to a black man. In fact, he barely batted an eye. As the week passed, I've come to the conclusion that Edward didn't really give a damn at the fact his mate was black.

Huh. Surprising since most 18th century white men thought the Africans and their American descendants were lower than dirt.

But Edward had no signs of aggression or disgust or anything negative toward him—I know because I would feel if he did otherwise. As the week passed, his mate seemed to figure out that fact too, since he was no longer tense or throwing suspicious glances at Edward. I knew he—and so was I admittingly—was surprised when Edward slid their first bit of food, if it could be called food, towards him and didn't touch it until he ate first.

After the first day, Edward was no longer wearing his wrist shackles due on the accounts that no one was willing to spoon-feed him what passed off as dinner, and because Edward's hands, especially in his fingertips, were becoming an unhealthy color—a sign of a severe lack of blood flow because the shackles were too tight on his wrists. They had removed the shackles under the threat to shoot Edward directly in the head if he tried anything clever with his returned arm freedom.

Threat aside, it was a surprisingly "compassionate" gesture I suppose.

Most of the time was spent in silence since the guards didn't want them to talk, probably to avoid or lower the threat of paired resistance between the two pirates. So much of my time spent sitting on top of a wobbly small table that was near Edward that would have likely broken out from under my weight if I wasn't a ghost. The table was far enough away to be out Edward's reach, but close enough that I didn't feel any real discomfort from "the chain," though it's now made itself more known.

When I wasn't trying to listen into the latest "news gossip" from the guards, I was mainly reading through the Animus Data files, trying to get caught up with the knowledge of this time and learn about the people within it.

I was currently finishing up on the 1701 to 1714 War of the Spanish Succession since it seems to be the most recent major event that had the greatest effect around here in the Caribbean. American schools never or barely make any mention of it because it mainly took place in Spain and didn't directly involve America. That is unless you count another never/hardly mentioned war called the Queen Anne's War, or otherwise known as the Third Indian War, which _**did**_ take place in America from 1702 to 1713.

Anyway, I'll try to make this brief—the War of the Spanish Succession was fought mainly over who would succeed King Charles II as the King of Spain since the king had died without an heir or immediate blood family to succeed him. Eventually, Philip, a French Prince and grandson of Charles II's half-sister Maria Theresa, the first wife of Louis XIV, was recognized as the new King of Spain, in accordance of renouncing any claim to the throne of France.

However, here in the West Indies, the war was an economic war rather than a succession war.

Countless fleets of Spain and Portugal treasure ships—like the fleet we're in now—were targeted by their enemies. Not only that, colonial outposts were subjected to raids that were executed by privateering convoys. To make matters worse, the convoys would target poorly defended settlements, and then either pillage them for their valuables, or demand ransom.

I suppose this would explain why privateers were no longer liked, or even tolerated, and why there is such a high rise in privacy around this time. To the common folk, privateers and pirates are one in the same.

I closed the file, done with researching the current history for the moment. After such a heavy read, I feel exhausted from the new understanding.

I looked back over at Edward, who was apparently napping while holding his body up to avoid trying to lean against the ship's hull, which was out his reach to lean against. I haven't seen him, or his mate, truly sleep this past week. They seem to fall into a half doze, letting their heads fall forward limply while keeping their torso straight and their arms resting limply on their partially folded up legs. That position could not have been comfortable to try and sleep in, especially on their lower backs.

But then they're prisoners. I doubt anyone on this ship gives a damn about their health and comfort.

Nevertheless, I did. And even though I know they can't hear or see me, I couldn't just sit here on this table and do nothing. Even if it's just pretend, I want to give them some form of comfort.

So, at random moments, I would get up from the table and either pace back and forth in front of them, or sit next to one them and start humming songs I knew that came to mind in this situation.

I hummed Snow Patrol's "Chasing Cars," Lifehouse's "Broken," and Hurts' "Stay," but mainly I hummed It's a Beautiful Day's "White Bird."

They're not exactly happy or upbeat songs, but they kept my mind off the combination of boredom and worry I find myself in when not distracted by the guard's gossip and my history studies.

Sometimes I would catch Edward looking up, but it was often too dark to be sure what exactly he was looking at. But no doubt it was probably mainly to either relieve the crick he was no doubt developing in his neck or because he was trying to listen in to what the guards may be saying even if there was complete silence in the hull.

But right now, he was dreaming in a state of half-sleep. But the dream was more like a memory.

" _A despicable display! This tosspot is a ruined man, Caroline. Unfit for life on land, much less at sea. If he goes to the West indies, it's you who'll suffer._ "

" _Father…Father! ... … Come, love. Up with you now._ "

" _That old muckworm! He's wrong about me!_ "

" _I hope so._ "

" _You believe me, don't you? Can you not see me…standing out there on the deck of a ship that's sliding into port? And there I am, a man of quality…with a thousand Doubloons spilling from my pockets like drops of rain. I can see it…_ "

He's been having this dream-memory a lot.

While I can that it's an important memory, probably the one that holds the reason he came to the West Indies in the first place, along with the memory of his decision to become a privateer, I find myself questioning it.

"Man of Quality"?

Man of superior power and greed, I'd say is more like!

After all, aren't most of the Templars here Men of Quality? People of the high social positions?

Not only that, our history shows that "Men of Quality" were infrequently good and charitable people. They are more likely to be lazy or proud, and/or thinking little of those less fortunate. Even the nicer ones would more likely look down upon the lower class with pity.

Perhaps it's biased, but no one can say I'm lying or wrong either.

When it comes to wealth, power and influence, it's a dog-eat-dog world.

And Edward wants to be a part of it…

It makes me all the more worried for him because…

…

Because…

…

…

…

…

He's a pirate, yet…

…

He's more than that…

…

Ugh! He's so damn confusing!

Footsteps on the creaking wood of the hold's fall break any thoughts and the silence like a hot knife through butter, bringing a halt to my humming.

For the first time today, someone was coming towards the bound pirates. I had noticed that the two had been left alone for a particularly long period of time today. The guards hadn't done that before, but I had noticed that the ship seemed to be sailing on rougher today. The whole ship was bobbing up and down randomly and I could hear a strong wind blowing outside.

It was a strange turn in the sea and weather, because both had been very calm during the past week.

Something must have changed.

The guard that often brought Edward and his pirate mate "food" and water walked through the "doorway" into this end part of the hold, carrying the usual tin plate and leather canteen. As usual, I can't tell what exactly is on that plate, but as usual, the size portion of the food looks too small to feed two fully grown men. But at least this time, whatever it is that's on that plate actually looks edible, not something someone fished out the garbage can.

When I said that nobody on this ship gives a damn about their health and comfort, I meant it quite literately.

Usually, the guard walks stiffly, almost angrily towards the pirates; almost as if he's cursing God, or fate, or something, for putting him in the position in having to feed the "infidel." But today however, he's walking more loosely…

As if he's trying to keep himself from falling…

Now that I think of it, the ship is starting to sway at angles that are causing anything not tied or bolted down, to move in the opponent direction of the side that it rising. In fact, I can feel the table I'm sitting on is moving slightly a few inches away from the wall that I sometimes lean my body against since usually the table is pressed right against it.

It's causing my stomach to clench because I have no idea what's going on here.

Why is the sea becoming so rough? Even on the windiest days we had this week, the ship wasn't swaying this rough.

I dread to know the answer.

I watch the guard drop the tin plate between Edward and his mate. The ringing clutter sound of the plate hitting the wood floor caused Edward to jerk is head up in surprise, his eyes a bit dazed from being awakened from his not-really-restful nap. The guard dropped the canteen between Edward's spread legs and ordered both pirates—in Spanish—to eat their "supper" quickly before leaving.

Edward looked at the food, stared at it for couple of seconds then looked up at his pirate mate. The mate looked at Edward.

"You hungry?" Edward asked. It was the first words that have been out of his mouth since the guards released him from his wrist shackles six days ago.

The mate didn't answer. However, there must have been some kind of non-verbal communication going on between them.

Why do I say that?

Well, because the next thing I knew the both of them grabbed the metal bar and started trying to break the lock that was keeping the bar attached to the "staples" by forcing the lock to ram against the staple.

"Well," I said, sliding down off the table, "Looks like we may be escaping."

The sound of the lock break and seeing it go flying off in some radon direction proved me right.

It was time to escape.


	18. He Sure Looks The Part

I expected that after a whole week—in Edward's time anyway—I would synchronize with Edward right away. But strangely enough, the synchronization didn't happen.

Darn it! I thought I had this synchronization thing figured out. But then again, I can't even figure out why I suddenly developed a radar-like sense while in the Animus Omega.

"Falcon Eye" is what I've decided to call this strange "ESP radar-like map feature" I've suddenly developed while on the Governor's grounds back in Havana. Actually I think it's essentially more like "Psychic Navigation" combined with "Danger Intuition" and "Enhanced Awareness" rather than radar, which deals more with using sound to pinpoint locations. But "radar sense" seems to be the best way to describe it and what it seems to be doing.

It's not really Edward's Eagle Vision, since that vision involves the eyes, which allows the color aura to manifest. While my vision does use some color, it seems to only be locked on red or blue, but the color doesn't manifest in front of my eyes, it stays in "the mind's eye" I suppose is the best way to describe it.

The sense mainly seems to be giving me a mental map of where I am now, and it keeps a look out for threats and allies. Like right now, Edward and Edward's mate are identified as blue dots, while the guards, which are further up the hold, are red dots. I, on the other hand, am identified as a white dot in the center of my "mental map." From that point, I have a full 360 degree field of vision.

Right now the dots that represent me, Edward, Edward's mate and the guards are floating in a dull red, meaning that the area—the hold—is enemy territory. But really, I didn't need my second vision to tell me that.

"Now what's your plan, mate?" Edward asked his fellow pirate as I followed Edward to what classified as the entryway of this part of the hold.

"Find my weapon and steal a ship," the mate answered rather simply.

_**Steal**_ a whole _ship_?

…I don't know whether to call him crazy or not. As Will Turner would say, that plan is either madness or brilliance.

How many men can occupy one whole ship? About two dozen I'd think at least; more if it's big ship. Edward and his mate would be outnumbered six to one.

But really what choices do we have here? We're somewhere in the northeastern part of the Gulf of Mexico—near Florida, Spanish territory, if what I've heard from the guards is correct. We can't just try and make a break for it by swimming 'cause we'd be dead long before we reach the nearest shorelines—by sharks, waves, exhaustion, hypothermia, anything that is realistically possible.

A ship is really our only option for any form of safety out here on the ocean.

At the entryway, Edward and his mate took to opposite corners of the passages, listening in the guards on duty on the other side of the portal. Even though I didn't technically have too, I choose to stand next to Edward as if I was also hiding from view. From what little I could overhear from the muffled voices of the guards, they were extremely nervous. I could pick up bits and pieces of something about a storm, while my Falcon Eye showed me a total of four red dots, running down the hold to the other side, where the trapdoor they used to bring Edward down into the hold was located.

Well, they answered my question on why the sea was rough. Edward and his mate picked a good time to escape as the storm would occupy the Spanish sailors' attention.

I see Edward risking a peek to look beyond the corner of the entryway. After a few moments, he lets out a one-note whistle that cuts through the silence in the air.

I know this tactic. While on the governor's grounds in Havana, he had whistled to catch a target's attention in order to ambush him in the safety of cover without having to reveal himself. Many a time I had spotted the confused looks of a small group of guards who suddenly found themselves with one (or more) member short. I find it to be a very effective and smart move.

Though how was he supposed to take out this guard when he has no weapons?

Well, I'm about to find out.

Just as the guard—the same one that gives Edward and his mate their "supper" if I'm not mistaken—stepped into the room, Edward struck.

He appeared in front of the guard, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him towards his chest, wrapped an arm around the Spanish's neck, and held onto him hard in a headlock, pulling him back under cover before his accomplice noticed anything wrong. That's when the mate decided to strike. I saw him leave the safety of cover to ambush the guard's accomplice.

Edward placed his hand over his captive's mouth and nose and pressed hard, squeezing the captive's mouth and nose shut. I watched as the captive tried hard to struggle, to break free from Edward's grip, but he was fast losing oxygen and his struggles weren't helping him retain what was left of his breath. As the seconds passed, I watched his eyes glaze over and roll until I saw mostly the white of his eyeballs, and his body became limp, his hands unable to hold onto Edward's forearm any longer and his legs unable to keep supporting his body. As his eyes closed, his body became as limp as a lifeless doll.

Only when the captive was now a heavy limp burden in his arms did Edward remove his hand from the captive's face, and he allowed him to slump lifelessly on the floor. Still alive, still breathing, but out cold. The pirate then reached down and started picking through the guard's pockets.

He didn't carry much in reales, but he did have some bullets for some reason. Strange since this guy wasn't even carrying a single firearm on his holster, just a cutlass which Edward ignored and I can see why.

This guy didn't know a thing about proper sword care.

…

…

Since when did I know anything about sword care?

Still, Edward pocketed the bullets and the reales into his pockets as he stepped into the next room. His pirate mate was patiently waiting for him; next to his boot lay the guard's accomplice also out cold, his pockets turned inside-out.

Well, at least the mate has the same idea as Edward does.

But now my Falcon Eye detects two more dots on the edge of what I can sense.

Well, they should be much of a problem for Edward and his mate.

I was proven right as Edward and his pirate mate took down the four remaining guards in the hold using the same strategy twice more. They would hide out of sight in the corners, and then Edward would whistle until he caught someone's attention. Then Edward would ambush the guard investigating the noise, and the mate would sneak up on the accomplice.

"Unlucky lads," Edward said unsympathetically, looking down at the last guard he knocked out cold.

I rolled my eyes. I would rather he'd not say anything.

Suddenly the ship lurched, throwing Edward and his mate against a stack of cargo. "Christ!" Edward cursed, as he was thrown to the wall of the tunnel-like passage the cargo had made. At the end of the makeshift passage is where the other end of the hold is located, and from there the exit. "The seas are uneasy today!"

"You think?" I said, fighting to keep my own balance. While I'm not being thrown around like the two pirates—yet another advantage of being a ghost—the rocking isn't making standing any easier for me.

Behind me, the mate said, "Hurricane coming."

"Hurricane?" Edward said, pausing for a moment at the news.

Hurricane? _**Hurricane**_!

Okay! When they said "storm" hurricane was the last thing on my mind. No wonder the Spanish sailors were so worried.

My hometown of Washington DC doesn't often get a full on hurricane—we usually just get the remnants, or a weakened storm that come up from the south where the warmer waters are. However, I've lived through the Hurricanes Fran, Floyd, Isabel and Ivan, our recorded deadliest hurricanes to have deadly affects in our region.

Knowing hurricanes as I do, I'd pray I won't have to face one at full strength if I didn't already knew in the back of my head, I was more than likely going to.

'Cause that's just how life seems to be.

"Jaysus," Edward muttered.

"I couldn't agree more," I said in an automatic response.

The lurching stopped, though the ship was still not-quite gently swaying side-to-side, but it was easier to keep our balance. I almost feel like I'm in one of those advanced fun-house rooms I saw on YouTube, where the room is rocking making keeping your balance a bit of a challenge.

Once we made it clear of the "tunnel" the two pirates headed for a long table at the end of this part of the hold. On the table were three swords: two officer's small swords and one _espada ancha_ —really where is this knowledge coming from?—a cannon-barrel pistol, and surprisingly enough, two Hidden Blades.

Strange…did du Casse leave those here or…?

Well, it's not a pleasant thought but…someone on board could have found the bodies of the Assassins that died in their failed attempt to rescue Roberts and stripped them of their valuables. Makes me sick to think that people will, and still do, rob the dead—it's disrespectful in my eyes. But this is a dog-eat-dog world isn't it? Morals and ethics are damned here. It's all take and no give, survival of the fittest, and all that yadda-yadda-yadda kind of stuff.

After all, I have a walking, talking example in front of me named Edward James Kenway.

…

Or at least a very close replica.

…

As Edward grabbed the two small swords, his pirate mate grabbed the _espada ancha_. "We're stealing a brig," he informed Edward.

A brig?

What's a bri—

A flash of a picture of a two square rigged mast warship that could also act as a large cargo ship. The ship was bigger than a Schooner—that's Bonnet's ship type—but they had more firepower with ten to eighteen cannons, and were just as fast and maneuverable, but at the cost of losing the defenses of what the frigate or the Man O' War can possess. Still due to its bigger size, a larger crew then a Schooner had, is needed in order to handle the rigging and cannons—

(O_O)

…

…

…

Okay, that's just scary.

Since _when_ do I know anything about _**18**_ _ **th**_ _ **century ships**_?! I don't even know anything about our own _**modern**_ ones! Expect that they're made of metal or steel, and the ones here are made of wood!

What the **hell** is going on here?!

"Hey," Edward's pirate mate's voice cut through my thoughts, "Take what you need."

"Won't be a minute," Edward answered, his holster now sporting the two small swords and the cannon-barrel pistol.

…I guess I should be thankful for Edward's pirate mate. I really don't want to think about the possibilities of what's going on with my brain. Sometimes I have too much of an active imagination.

As he was in the process of arming himself with the hidden blades, I noticed that he noticed something else on the table. If I had to guess, it's some kind of leather armor from the looks of it. Leather vest, bicep guards, and arm bracers I think they're called.

Edward was just looking at the leathers, contemplating I think.

Then he placed the hidden blades back down on the table…

Huh, what is he up too?

He unbuckled the holster, swords and pistol still tucked into their loops, and also pulled off and unwound the red sash around his waist. He removed Duncan's coat and discarded it also, but kept on the long blue and white waistcoat and the whitish hood, which I realize was actually detached from the coat. Well, I can see why he'd discard the coat. The coat sleeve du Casse stabbed last week is practically hanging by threads now. The rip had somehow gotten much bigger during the past week, crawling its way up Edward's shoulder and under the armpit, that you could see his long sleeve shirt and the edge of the waistcoat—which both articles miraclessly avoid getting cut by the blade.

Ah, now I see, he's going to be taking the armor along. Well, the leather will give him better protection then what Ducan's coat could give. Besides, the coat was too heavy to wearing in this warm tropical weather. The whole time he wore it, Edward sweat enough to create his own waterfall if that's possible to believe.

Yeah, he stinks, but after a whole week down here in the hold, I fast learned to ignore it. But I now have this urge to hit the shower whenever a session is done, which is strange since I shower every morning before coming to work.

…what's going on?

* * *

From the very beginning I knew Edward was a pirate. I was told he was by Melanie, and then I saw it with my own two eyes when he was at Cape Bonavista. He really did look like a pirate, shabby hair, scruffy chin, a thread necklace with its five bone claws, and from what I could see, his torso and arms—were covered in different sorts of tattoos—I don't care to find out if he has more in other places.

…really, I don't…

Anyway, bottom of the line, even when he masqueraded Duncan Walpole, I could still look at him and think pirate.

But now…

I look at him now, in that leather armor, and I don't think pirate, I think Assassin, especially when he pulled the hood back over his head. He appears to really be an Assassin.

But he's isn't…he just…looks like one…

A living pirate wearing the wrong clothes…

Sigh…

Well…

At least he looks good, better than he did when he was trying to portray Duncan Walpole because he looks like himself.

That's a plus, isn't it?

…he really does look good.

Oh dear…

Before I could allow myself to stare, I turned on my heel and started heading for the ladder that lead to the deck, hearing Edward's mate say, "There's many prisoners held on these ships. Set them free, and they'll sail with us, no question."

"Well," I said, climbing up the rungs, "That'll make your job easier."

But how scary is it that I'm finding a dead guy, a pirate at that, attractive looking?

_Yeesh,_ I think to myself as I pass right through the trapdoor and climb right onto the deck, _What's the matter with me?_

After what happened with Leo, you'd think I'd learn.


	19. Way to El Dorado

Up here on the deck, the sky was covered in medium grey clouds and mist was setting in. I heard the wind blowing hard enough that it whistled, and it was already raining hard—the first warning signs of the upcoming hurricane. When Edward opened the trapdoor about five to ten seconds after I climbed through it to get to the deck, he and his mate were both instantly drenched by the downpour. 

Which reminds me that I’m probably the only one in a whole hundred mile radius—or however big this hurricane is, and how far it travels—who is not going get wet because the rainwater is going right through me.

Lucky me?

“So that’s the idea then?” Edward asked as the mate pulled himself up onto the deck, “Free what men we can, then find a fast ship to flee in?”

“Aye,” the mate nodded in affirmative, “There’s a brig in this fleet. I’ll make my way to it.” With that, the mate ran to the railing and actually **_vaulted over_** it to dive into the charring seawater below. But I wasn’t really paying attention.

Now that I think about it, I think I **_did_** see a brig in this fleet when Edward was being “escorted” here to the _Santa Isabel_ a week ago. With that new knowledge now in my head—just **_where_** did it come from is still unknown—I can recall looking over and seeing the name _El Dorado_ on the stern of ship that looked much or exactly like the mental picture of a ship in my head.

Another thing I can recall seeing were prisoners, about eighteen I think I can recall seeing, scattered on the deck through different ships. If Edward could get to the ships holding the prisoners and he frees them, he’ll have a full twenty man crew—that’s including himself and the pirate mate—to help run the ship.

Perhaps this plan isn’t so “mad” after all.

Only problem is: where are the other prisoners?

That’s when I noticed something new in my Falcon Eye, just on the edge behind where I am facing. Dots of green?

I synchronized with Edward before I could begin to think about what this new thing in my Falcon Eye could mean. Even so, it has shown me that the _Santa Isabel_ had a small crew for a ship this size: the six down the hold and the eight my Falcon Eye could see up here on the deck.

Guess with all that gold and treasure down the hold, there simply wasn’t enough room for anymore crew members. The king’s gold squeezed out any more potential crewmen.

A useful advantage for Edward I suppose, but still he’s outnumbered.

…yet I find myself not worrying as much as I probably would otherwise.

Huh…

Like he did in the hold, Edward took cover—this time by this large wooden crate that was tall enough to hide a man of Edward’s height if said man ducked down a little. But just like in the hold, he let out a one-note whistle to catch the nearest sailor’s attention. However, this particular sailor needed another whistle, followed by a two-note whistle in order to get him to stop looking around and come over to where Edward was hiding. I guess it was because of the sound of wind and rain made it hard for him to be sure that he had even heard a whistle, where’s down in the hold, it was pretty much dead silent…

…or about as dead silent as it can get on the ocean anyway: the wood always creaks and the wind is always heard whistling or blowing, and the seawater could be heard hitting the hull…

Still, the effect was still the same. The sailor’s curiosity was peaked and he came over to the crate. And just like before once the sailor was about to turn around to investigate Edward’s hiding place, Edward pounced. The only difference was Edward didn’t bother to put him in a headlock; instead the pirate used his new Hidden Blade to stab the sailor in the stomach. The sailor, no doubt dead now or close to it, slumped into Edward in a dead weight. Calmly, Edward moved…the corpse…into his hiding spot and moved on.

“Rest in peace,” I said softly towards the corpse as Edward continued on into a new hiding spot.

…I’m not heartless or cold-blooded. Even if it was out of necessity and survival, I feel sad…even regretful…that these men are dead simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, even if it seems Edward could care less; I can clearly feel that he wants them out of his way. If there’s any remorse in him as he searches the corpse for more bullets and reales, I can’t sense it. But now that I can’t live behind the illusion that this is just like a video game or movie, I might as well say something respectful towards the newly dead, even if it’s to make myself feel better about what just happened.

Best hang fast onto that if I want to survive the rest of these sessions with myself intact. Who knows how much more death I’ll have to witness down this road that I see now is stained with blood.

Given the openness of the _Santa Isabel_ ’s deck, Edward’s whistle-then-ambush trick could only work for so long, but at least he managed to down two more sailors before he found himself caught into a swordfight with five armed sailors; the remaining one near the prow for some reason decided to stay back…probably to safeguard whatever it was that was causing my Falcon Eye to see green.

Edward reacts instinctively more than anything else.  There are no thoughts or planning to his actions, just physical reactions to what he sees and hears. A sword thrust is stopped by crossing his two blades and an upward push, causing the enemy’s sword to be caught and thrown off target; instead of hitting his heart, the sword’s point slides over Edward’s armored shoulder. Uncrossing the blades using all the strength his arm muscles could muster threw the blade away from him, causing its owner’s torso to become wide open to an attack, which Edward took with one blade, while blocking another attack with the other.

I wonder if this is what is meant by: “you think, you’re dead.” I’ve heard some people—police and war veterans mostly—describe this feeling when they’re in the heat of dangerous situation. I can see now what it is that they were trying to tell people.

In the heat of battle, there is no real thinking—there are just your instincts.

As the other four armed sailors attack, all I can really see are sparks—where are the sparks coming from?—and the sound of blades colliding with other blades or flesh, followed by spurts of red, which can only be blood.

But when the world became still again, I saw Edward was standing over bloody cut up bodies. All dead, but some with their eyes still open—there are no words to describe the lifelessness in those eyes. I wanted to close them, allow the eyelids to cover the lifelessness, but I couldn’t. All I could do was whisper, “Rest in peace,” before Edward sheathed his twin swords and started stalking up to the remaining sailor who was still standing near the prow.

The last remaining sailor was scared; it was plain to see. It was more out of that fear, rather than anger or bravery he might have had, that caused him to charge at Edward.

Thankfully I suppose, Edward ended it quickly—a hidden blade through the throat. The outcry the sailor had let out when he charged cut off for all eternity. Edward caught the body as its momentum caused it to fall on his outstretched arm.

“Rest in peace,” I muttered softly as Edward set the body on the ground and freed his hidden blade.

It was all I could do.

* * *

It turns out the remaining sailor was guarding nine pirates—I knew they were pirates even though they all looked like ordinary 18th century seamen.

How did I know?

They were all tied up and forced to sit on their knees out here in this deluge.

And they were the ones that appeared to be green dots in my Falcon Eye.

So…green is my Falcon Eye’s version of Eagle Vision’s gold?

Maybe, but I don’t think it’s quite the same, but close enough. But at least I now know what it was that was causing my Falcon Eye to see green dots instead of the usual red or blue.

Edward went up to the nearest pirate. He was a young man, but likely older than me and Edward by a couple of years at least, distinguished from the others due to his fair head of hair I could see sticking out of his rich blue bandana. Like Edward, his arms were tattooed, though from what I could see of his torso through his open vest was clear of any inking. But whereas both Edward’s his arms had two fairly well-sized pictures, this pirate had a large tattoo of the same picture—a snake coiled around a sword—on his biceps to his elbows.

“There’s a catch to this favor,” Edward told the pirate as he sliced the rope bound around the prisoner’s wrists, “You’re sailing with me.”

When the rope fell away, I could see that the pirate’s wrists were raw and red with rope burns. From the indents in his skin, I could see just how tight the rope had been. The rawness and redness must have come when he struggled to try and free himself, but lucky for him he hadn’t opened any wounds; probably meaning he knew how useless struggling would have been if he ended up with open sores.

As Edward helped the now freed pirate to his feet, the young man smiled gratefully at Edward and hit his arm in a show of comradely. “I’d fallow you to hell for this mate,” he said.

In my Falcon’s Eye, this pirate seaman changed from a green dot to a blue dot.

The pirate seaman, who introduced himself as Jack—thank god there’s no relation or symmetry to **_Captain_** Jack Sparrow; someone save us all if there were—helped Edward free the other eight pirate seamen; each one of them changing from a dot of green into a new dot of blue in my Falcon’s Eye.

Seems Edward’s pirate mate was right. Pirate seamen follow without question to the one that’s proven worthy.

It’s a bit scary to think about because loyalty given that easily is just as easily lost. A morally dubious Templar-turned-Assassin—though even that remains dubious—courtesan named Fiora Cavazza, who was one of my many “subjects” to study during Project Legacy, taught me important lessons about loyalty; especially how fluid it can be rather then the hard steel we picture loyalty to be.

Knowing that, I can’t help but wonder just how long these seamen will remain loyal to Edward. Although I do have a good feeling about Jack and Edward’s nameless pirate mate, I can’t help but be weary of these seamen.

Or is that the suspicious side of me talking? I mean, I’m not exactly in a loyal position myself with anything Abstergo.

Edward directed his new loyal men to head for the nearby brig, but ordered them not to board her until he got there. The men agreed, then they all went to the rails and either vaulted over it like Edward’s pirate mate did, or they climbed on top of the rails and leapt. Either way, they were no longer onboard the _Santa Isabel_ and were swimming their way, despite the rough waters, toward the _El Dorado_.

Edward stopped Jack from vaulting over the rail. “Hold up, lad. Have you seen any other prisoners?”

“Aye,” Jack answered, “There’d be some on the _Conquistador_ , the _Hércules_ , and the _Nuestra Señora de Las Vinas_ over there.” He pointed to the three nearest and largest ships, galleons I think they’re called, and sure enough my Falcon Eye was pointing me straight to them. Although how many more of these pirate seamen were being held prisoner on those ships, I wouldn’t know until I, or rather Edward, got closer.

* * *

From where Edward was, holding onto the slippery wood of the _Hércules_ ’ hull, I could hear some of her Spanish sailors talking from somewhere above.

“ _Caul es la tardanza? Debemos de estar a la mitad del camino al Bermuda!_ ”

“ _Oro. Plata. Jade. Tabaco. Tu dime._ ”

“ _Y el agua? Y la comida? Yo estoy más preocupado por mi estómago que por las bóvedas del rey!_ ”

From what I could understand out of that, either the storm or the king’s new supply of gold, silver, jade, and Tabaco was slowing them down from reaching their destination of Bermuda where they need desperate resupply of food and water; probably for their long journey towards Spain.

_Not that it really matters_ , I thought, watching Edward pull at sneak attack on a sailor leaning against the _Hércules_ ’ stern rail—a simple quick stab with a Hidden Blade in the back and a strong pull into the dark churning waters below. _Rest in peace._

The sailor barely had time to make a single sound and the strong wind covered the sound of the splash.

Edward took out the helmsman before running up the _Hércules_ ’ deck—no cover to hide behind—to engage the four sailors that appeared to be guarding three pirate seamen, who were locked in the same of restraints as Edward and his pirate mate have been stuck in the past week in the _Santa Isabel_ ’s hold.

During the fight, I had noticed the seamen’s looks of surprise. In amidst of the blurring of fighting actions that were not my own, I couldn’t help but think: _What? Don’t you know a rescue when you see one?_

Very weird timing on my part to be cracking a joke.

Still, it takes my mind off the fact that Edward has successfully defeated the four sailors.

_Rest in peace._

Without any glance at the new dead bodies, Edward walked over to the seamen, and used the hilt of one of his swords to break the lock. It only took one hit because the lock was rusty, which is probably why these men had been heavily guarded. If it took only one hit from Edward’s sword to break it, then it would have easily broken if these men did what Edward and his mate did to escape the restraints.

“Come on, lads!” Edward said to them, helping one seaman to his feet, “If we’re to drown today, it won’t be here!”

…

(>_<)

…

Did he have to mention drowning?

Right now, that’s my worst fear.

* * *

To get to the _Nuestra Señora de Las Vinas_ , Edward actually ran up the _Hércules_ ’ prow. How’d he manage to keep his balance on that skinny point, I have no idea.

You’d think he was, probably in another life, a tightrope walker or something.

Still, can’t argue with the effect and how impressive it is that he could pull that off. For a man as burly as him, you’d never guess he was a master of keeping his balance.

…

Okay, now is probably not the time to admiring him.

**Anyway** , the _Hércules_ ’ prow was only like about a little over a foot away from scrapping against the _Nuestra Señora de Las Vinas_ ’s “nametag.” (Why is the word escutcheon coming to mind? I don’t even know what that word is or what it’s supposed to mean!)

I’m not sure, but I don’t think ships are supposed to be that close to one another. The probability of an accident occurring must be high if two ships are that close to one another, especially in this worsening storm. The waves seem to be steadily getting bigger.

I hope the pirate mate, Jack, and the other eleven men Edward freed are okay since they’ve got to be still in the water near the _El Dorado_. They’re the ones who have to ride it out until Edward frees the last…six, is it?...prisoners.

Edward easily leapt across the narrow gap. Amazingly, unnoticed by the three sailors that were stationed on the _Nuestra Señora de Las Vinas_ ’s stern.

Really, just how unobservant are these 18th century men?

Edward was literally in plain sight and they didn’t see him?

Well…their ignorance was their undoing…that’s all I can say.

Once the men on the stern, including the helmsmen, were taken care of— _Rest in peace_ —Edward used the ship’s wheel for cover in order to listen in on the two sailors that were right below him, standing in front of the doors to the captain’s quarters.

“ _Alisten se para ir! La tormenta casi está sobre nosotros_.”

“ _Y que de los prisioneros_?”

“ _Deja que se ahogen o nosotros nos ahogamos._ ”

Even if I couldn’t completely understand what it was they were saying, Edward’s spike of rage was enough to convince me that whatever they said involving their prisoners wasn’t a good one. In fact, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprise if what they said was something close to abandoning their prisoners to their fates. It certainly wouldn’t have surprised me.

“Every man for himself” and all.

Just for that, Edward double air assassinated them. But even with the small sense of justification—misguided or not I don’t know, I’m not that wise—I still did my silent “rest in peace” to the newly dead.

Even dead scums deserve some measure of kindness…stricken as it feels to say so.

…since when did I give a damn this much?

As it turns out, those scums Edward just killed were the ones guarding two more captured pirate seamen. Everyone else for some reason was further up the ship, so no one noticed Edward free the two prisoners and direct them to head towards the _El Dorado_.

Nor did they notice the three of them jump overboard.

* * *

Clearing out the _Conquistador_ ’s eight crewmen on the deck wasn’t an easy task, but somehow Edward managed to do it. His new leather armor keeping him safe from getting injured by the blades sharp tips.

Although to be fair, now that I think about it, none of these sailors on any of the ships were actually trained swordsmen. I think their swords were more for show rather any real purpose of defending oneself. Their swords were like status or authority symbols then anything practical.

Well, this oversight—what else can you call it?—was their undoing, and Edward’s gain for he had years of experience of using his blades.

So in terms of skill, those sailors never had a chance.

Unfortunately, it seemed Edward’s not-quite-hard-won—but still won nonetheless—effort in clearing out the Conquistador’s deck was wasted, because he could not find any prisoners on the ship’s deck. But I knew there had to be prisoners since there was a small cluster of green dots near the front of the ship. However, Edward had already been up there and there was not one sight of any prisoners despite what my Falcon Eye showed me.

But Edward couldn’t know. So giving up, Edward turned and started heading back towards a railing, wanting to get to the El Dorado when he unexpectedly stopped. A thought must have suddenly come to him. Turning back, he looked down at the deck floorboards, walking along them carefully, searching.

For what?

I got my answer when he spotted a trapdoor.

Oh!

If he and the pirate mate were locked down in the hold instead of on the deck like Jack and the other thirteen men, why couldn’t others?

And it also explains why my Falcon Eye was showing me what it was. It had shown me that there were other prisoners, but it couldn’t show me on a 3D scale.

Best keep that in mind.

As Edward lowered himself down into the _Conquistador_ ’s hold, we could both hear raised voices.

“ _Me voy para arriba. Esto es pura locura!_ ”

“ _Cálmate. Estaremos bien. Estaremos bajo-peso en unos cuantos minutos._ ”

Edward dropped as silently as he could manage from the ladder, and moved quickly to a corner next what classified as the doorway. A quick peek around the frame showed him that,  
through another doorframe, there were two sailors in amidst an argument in the room beyond. They were now speaking too fast for me to try and get a sliver of understanding about what it was they were fighting about. But it was aggressive enough that it caused the taller sailor to throw up his hands, and stomp toward the doorway, causing Edward to duck back to avoid being seen.

Edward waited there, listening to the ever growing closer footsteps of the sailor until the sailor appeared right next to him. Acting quickly, Edward jumped right in front of him, and stabbed a Hidden Blade into his heart. Dying, the sailor dropped to his knees, and Edward pulled his limp body out of sight of the doorways, depositing him right next to the ladder— _Rest in peace_.

Edward was then quick enough to get to cover again, this time by the second doorway. The sailor that the first one had been arguing with seemed to realize something was off, because I heard the sound of a blade being drawn.

However, it didn’t do him any good in the end. Like his buddy, he fell to a surprise attack by Edward and his Hidden Blades.

_Rest in peace_.

* * *

As it turns out that there were nine prisoners, not four like I had originally thought, here in the _Conquistador_ ’s hold. Most of them were tied up and forced to sit in uncomfortable positions, but three were locked in those strange restraints Edward, his pirate mate, and the three seamen on the _Hércules_ were in. Probably due to their free hands, they were kept well out of reach of the other six prisoners.

But oddly enough, for this large group of prisoners, they only had two guards. Both of whom were ignoring what was going on around them, expect for what was in front of them: the prisoners.

They were in the act of ordering some of the squirming seamen to quite moving when Edward assassinated them both from behind. The squirming prisoners froze in surprise at first, but then sagged in relief at the sight of Edward, before allowing themselves to move a bit to give their stiffening bodies some relief.

If they had been forced to sit in those uncomfortable positions for a whole week, they must be hurting.

Like he did on the _Hércules,_ Edward unsheathed one of his swords to use the hilt against the lock. However, unlike the lock on the _Hércules_ , this lock didn’t have a whole lot of rust, so the bashing wasn’t working.

But Edward refused to give up and ordered the three men to help him out by doing what he and his pirate mate did to break out of their own restraint. The three men listened and grabbed onto the rod and pulled, in union, back to get the lock to knock against the iron staple. Meanwhile, Edward continued to use the hilt of his sword as a hammer to bash.

It took a long time; the seconds and minutes seemed to drag on for hours. Someone said to forget it, that it wasn’t working.

But Edward continued to bash and the three seamen continued to pull.

And finally a metallic **snap** creaked through the silence that filled the hold, and the lock fell away, and the rod it was attached to, slid out the staple without any resistance.

Their efforts have paid off.

There was a huge sigh of relief from all nine of the seamen, especially the three that were trapped by that strange restraint.

Actually panting from the enervation of his task, Edward sheathed his sword and helped one of the seamen up onto his feet.

“We’re going topside,” Edward told his newest crewmembers, “Be ready.”

_Oh, they’ll be ready,_ I thought. _But are they able enough to survive the storm out there?_

The wind can be heard blowing harder than it’s ever been.

The hurricane was almost upon us.


	20. The Jaws of Neptune

“Lay aboard lads!” Edward called.

From where I was watching from the left side of the wheel of the helm, I could see all twenty-four men climb onto the _El Dorado_ —now vacant of any of its former crewmen thanks to the “Edward Extermination Company.”

I’m amazed that all of them had been able to not only swim through the rough waters to reach the ship, but to also be able to endure the roughening sea for as long as it took for Edward to gather and free them all, as well as clear the _El Dorado_ of hostiles.

They are quite amazing…for pirates.

“Save your singing for Davy Jones, you jagabats!” a familiar voice called, cutting through the slowing reaching deafening level noise of the storm.

From my spot, I looked around the deck for Edward’s pirate mate—I hope we live long enough to find out what exactly his name is. The whole “Edward’s mate” thing is started to become a little strange. But due to his skin color, it was very easy to locate him amongst the others.

He was fast climbing up the steps towards Edward, shouting “It’s a hard wind coming!”

“The man speaks true!” Edward shouted.

And he was.

Looking up towards the sky, the clouds were now so thick and dark that it was amazing we could still see anything. The rain was coming down harder than ever now and the wind was picking up to the point where anyone whose hair was free was blowing and whipping around wildly. Many were forced to squint to keep their eyeballs from drying out, or to keep rainwater from falling into their eyes and causing a stinging blindness—I don’t know it could be either or both. And now I could hear thunder cutting through the air, and the loud creak of a thunderbolt across the sky. In short, it was the kind of weather that no one should be out in.

But it’s not like we had a choice: we were stuck in the ocean where there was no cover.

Ugh, I should not have watched so many sea disaster movies, because now I have every single possible bad scenario flying around in my head.

Edward’s voice brought me out of a possible anxiety attack. “You lot weigh anchor!” he shouted pointing to the group nearest the anchor’s wheel. “As for the rest, half on the foremast and half at the main!”

I’m not sure why but…

Listening to Edward take charge, and seeing how quickly the men were responding to his orders, I felt this huge wave of security rush over me. As if somehow, I knew that despite the danger we were going to be facing against one of nature’s deadliest forces, in a ship that could most likely fall to pieces when the right wave hits it, somehow we would be okay.

How…strange…

Edward grabbed a hold of the ship’s wheel. “Let’s outrun this hurricane!”

And then we were off, breaking away from the fleet and into the harshly churning open waters of the ocean. Skeptic as I was at our chances, I suddenly realized just how excited I felt.

It was…

Oddly exhilarating.

…Yeesh, did I suddenly become an adrenaline junkie or something? I’m well aware I’m in danger, yet I’m not afraid.

I glance over at Edward, who was ordering his mate—he’s now on Edward’s opposite side—to keep an eye on the rest of the Treasure Fleet’s galleons in case they try and give them any trouble while they were escaping.

I’m **_so_** blaming him for this strange new…whatever it is I’m experiencing as I grab a hold of the railing in front of me as Edward’s mate is doing. For all the purposes that I’m intangible—the rain water, and now the sea water, were stilling going through me was proof of that—I felt more grounded when I held onto the slick wood, willing my hands not to pass through them as I dug my nails into them.

Through the roaring of the wind, I could hear Edward’s mate say something about something being far too slow, but I didn’t catch it all despite that fact he was only a few feet to the right away from me.

“Bark any orders you think wise, mate, we’re up against it here!” I heard Edward say, probably to the mate since he was the only one besides me that was right next to him…and the only one he could see, we can’t forget that.

“These men know their place! They’ll see us home,” the mate assured. He sounded so confident about what he said.

I wish I had that.

“Incoming fire!” shouted someone from above, on the mast of all places. It sounded like Jack, but I couldn’t be sure.

The ship was jolting as if it were a car going over a series of bad speed bumps and deep holes. But somehow I knew better: we were being fired upon.

I looked behind me and saw a series some kind of small ships, schooners I think if I’m remembering correctly—or gunships (Huh?) or brigs my mind was saying—firing their cannon shots at us. Whatever they were, the mate shouted a warning at Edward to be careful since they could fire many bullets.

In my Falcon’s Eye, I could see about seven red dots, trying to close in on us.

The ship’s starboard side did a sudden tilt upward at a sharp angle and I forgot all about our pursuers. The ship must have been at a sixty, or even seventy degree angle, since Edward, the mate and I suddenly found our feet sliding across the slick deck planks. Had the mate and I had not been holding onto the railing, and Edward had not been grasping the ship’s wheel, we would have slid right into the ocean waters.

For a few moments, though it felt like an eternity, we were practically almost dangling. I dared not look down, or even around me, just focusing on my bone-white knuckles, grasping hard on the slick wood of the rail. I did not want to see the dark churning waters behind—almost below—me for they would have looked like a large gapping maw of some unknown sea creature, like the Kraken from Pirates of the Caribbean, waiting to swallow me whole. I didn’t dare look around because, even though I couldn’t really hear anything beyond the rush of wind and my own pounding heart, I was sure that some poor crewmember was falling into his death, screaming his last breath, and I didn’t want to see that.

Above me, despite the noise of the storm wind, I could hear Edward—or is it the mate, I don’t know—grunting. Well, at least I know that one of them must still here.

But sooner than it felt, the ship righted itself as best as it could in this weather and all three of us—thank god we were all still there—where able to right ourselves.

“Hold sails, she’ll take it!” Edward shouted to the men on the mast as he righted his feet from under him and turned the wheel rapidly at the same time. How’d he manage that?

I pulled myself upright and looked down along the deck, expecting to see fewer men then I had seen the last time—when was that?—I looked. But to my surprise, and relief, despite the fact we were now missing one or two canons, it seemed everyone was still there, even the young foolish sailors standing on top the port and starboard rails, holding onto nothing more than a bit of rigging.

Lucky bastards so far.

“Look out man!” the mate shouted, bringing my attention upward.

“I see it!” Edward replied, his eyes glaring forward.

So did I.

I heard of this.

The TV said it was a Rogue Wave, though it could also be called Freak Wave, Monster Wave, Killer Wave, Extreme Wave, Abnormal Wave, etcetera, etcetera. Just the name of it would tell anyone that these waves were not the kind of waves you would see at a beach and watch the surfers sail through. No, those waves were **_babies_** compared to a Rogue Wave.

Rouge Waves were the spontaneously **HUGE** waves that occur far out at sea that can threaten any large ship, like ocean liners for example. They were the waves that caused ships to founder in every shipwreck news story, graphic novel, TV series, and video game you see. If you see how a rogue wave can tear apart a metal ship, you can bet your life on how easily a wooden ship would stand against THIS MONSTER.

If there was ever a time that I ever believe that there was really a god called Neptune, I was sure to believe now.

Next to me, Edward was jerking the wheel around, forcing the ship’s prow to meet the Rouge Wave head-on. I have some idea what he’s thinking. Apparently, facing a wave head-on instead of side-on was the safest way to ensure the survival and integrity of a ship. I had seen a video clip of a Japanese ship surviving the infamous tsunami from the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake on youtube, so I know it’s possible.

But…

It’s really different when you’re looking at a monstrous force of nature with your own eyes instead of a computer screen. The fact that it’s storming, the sea is rougher, the top of that wave is choppy and white AND that this ship is made of **wood** , makes this experience all the more frightening.

Faster then I care to think, the wave was right on top of us.

Edward shouted, “BRACE!”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

Bear-hugging the rail, all I could do was crouch down and hold on. I saw out of the corner of my eye Edward ducking down, using the wheel as cover.

No fair.

As the ship was titled upward into almost a ninety degree angle, my feet slide back, my stomach dropped like a stone and I truly was dangling with only my arms keeping me from falling to my doom. But what I was seeing, I couldn’t believe it.

The ship’s pointed prow cut through the white-top of the Rouge Wave, parting the water like as if someone had grabbed the wave with both hand and parted it down the middle. Almost like ripping a piece a paper in two.

My feet fell back onto the deck and then I was staring back into the black seawater again until a sudden lurch and then I could see the both the heavy sky and the dark choppy ocean.

…

…

Wow.

I just survived a head on collision with a Rouge Wave.

…oh my…

In my Falcon Eye, every single red dot that had been chasing us disappeared. All that I could see was just the white dot—me and the ship.

And I knew why.

The ocean has claimed its newest victims. The Jaws of Neptune has gained its feast.


	21. After the Storm

It must have been…I don't know. Hours? I'm not sure.

But eventually the overhung clouds overhead finally seem to whiten, and the churning waters became less choppy and more smooth. Then the whiteness of the clouds suddenly turned orange, and then I could see a disc of orange and yellow above.

It could only be the sun.

I don't believe it.

For the first time in my life, I can actually feel my legs like they were made of jelly. Not knowing what to do with that feeling, I allow them to bend down until I sat down on the wet wood of the deck, my hands still clasping the rail in a death grip. I'm sure that if I weren't a ghost, they'd be bone white at the knuckles and cramped beyond belief.

I then allowed myself to fall almost back against the ship's wheel, one hand still clutching the rail in a near death grip while the other plopped down onto the deck beside me. My head lolled back where I was partially looking up at the helm's barrel drum with its tiller ropes, up towards the foremast and pass that to the sky with the thinning clouds were giving way to an orange sky.

How in the world did we survive that?

That hurricane was a nightmare come to life with its high waves and waterspouts—yes waterspouts! Never saw anything more terrifying in my life, expect for the 9/11 attacks.

Oh man…

I felt a wave of relief coming from behind me, and then I heard a wet heavy thump as if something hefty had just been dropped onto the deck.

I turned my head slightly and saw Edward was now sitting down on the helm's platform, his back half-pressed against wheel. He was leaning forward heavily, almost like he was being weighed down the wetness of his leather armor. The sea water would most likely make the leather heavier than it was when dry. But I knew it was more likely exhaustion that was weighing him, not the armor, for his head hung between his shoulders, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands hung limp between them.

He wasn't in pain either. I don't feel any tall-tale pain echoes that would have told me if he was. But waves of both pure relief and sheer disbelief were coming off him like a cascade and falling right into me, echoing all over my mind and body.

I guess…

I guess he's as shocked as I am for having survived the hurricane, and relieved that we did.

"Let's outrun this hurricane" he had said. I guess some part of him did not really believe he would, even though everything else about him—his posture, his attitude, the control of his emotions. It all showed marks of a degree of confidence and control I wouldn't expect out of someone like him.

His whole character before he faced that storm—heck even during the storm—was so different to the swash-bugger I've been having to deal with since Cape Bonavista.

Idiotic, reckless, and greedy.

All of sudden assertive, in-control…a true Captain.

It was almost as if he had suddenly become two completely different men.

And…

I'm not sure…but…

…

Did that storm somehow show me what he is truly capably of?

I don't know…

…I just don't know…

How long we sat there in what might as well be called a stunned silence, I have no idea at all, but it must have been some time since the sun seemed to be a little lower in the sky then I remember. But whatever the time was, eventually, I saw out the corner of my eye that Edward's head had rose and he was sitting upright more. He looked around the ship's bow, mainly looking at the slight destruction I think. I'm sure how I didn't notice but it's covered in wooden slinters and small chucks of wood. I suspect that they came from either the masts or the rails since I only just now noticed that the rail under my one still-grasping hand is now badly chipped. My hand would be bleeding if not for the intangibly.

After holding on to the rail as if it were a lifeline for so long during that storm, I finally let go.

"Godfrey Lijah, we made it!" I heard Jack say from somewhere above. I know he had to be somewhere on the Main Mast, but I still couldn't see him. Still, it's amazing that we can still hear him.

"Indeed," I muttered as if to answer Jack's voice as it kept speaking on about something—the ship—being a mess. I scooted over a bit so I could stand up without bumping or brushing into anything, "Godfrey Lijah."

I don't even know what "Godfrey Lijah" is or what it's supposed to mean, but…who cares at this point. We're alive…

…

They're alive…

* * *

By the time I got to my feet, Edward was already up and walking around a bit. From the looks of it, he was a doing a quick scan of the damage the ship obtained from the hurricane, which is now slowly headed to the northeast, away from us, thank goodness. I doubt the ship can handle Round Two until it gets some major repairs.

From one of the stairs, the mate was rejoining us—well, rejoining Edward as far as he's concerned. I think he had gone to check to see if anyone had gotten hurt, but I'm not sure. I was reeling from two kind of relief and disbelief, my own and Edward's, when he said something and then left his…"post" I'll call it.

Like Edward and everything and everyone else, the mate was soaked with sea water. His thin shirt clung to his body, giving me a perfect outline of his impressive heavyset abs. And somehow, his tan-yellow scarf headband, now as drenched as his clothes, was still wrapped around his bald head.

"By God, we pulled this one straight from the teeth of Neptune…" Edward said to the mate, who gave a slight tilt of the head in agreement. Edward's voice betrayed none of the weariness I could feel coming of him.

Funny…

"Teeth of Neptune" is close to what I had called that hurricane.

Seeing that he was coming to stand by the mate, who was unknowingly standing to the right of me, I moved out of Edward's way, walking through the mate to step onto the stairs behind him, ignoring the sound of static when I passed through the dark-skinned man. I turned around just in time to see Edward extend his hand toward the mate in the form of offering a handshake.

"I'm Edward," he greeted, properly.

Ah, right. Because their Spanish capturers didn't want them speaking to one another, they never did introduce themselves to one another.

The mate took Edward's hand without hesitation and shook it firmly.

"Much thanks for your aid back there," Edward added, sounding as genuinely grateful as I could feel.

"Adéwalé," the mate said in return.

Adéwalé…?

Name certainly sounds African-like. Maybe he really is African born, instead of American born?

Ah, well, it doesn't matter. I now have a name, a pronounceable one for my English, so I don't have to keep referring Adéwalé as "The Mate" anymore.

"Ever been to Nassau, Adéwalé?" Edward asked.

"Not yet," Adéwalé answered.

Nassau?

Don't think I ever heard of the place. Nothing comes to mind at the name.

Then I noticed Edward was still checking the ship for damage. He was staring at something over the port side of ship. Curious, I leaned over the stair rail to see—

Geez!

That's a lot of big…not quite a hole, but…very large dents in the ship's port side. One of them looks so deep that if it had been couple more centimeters inward, we'd be looking at a breach. Luckily that one is far above the waterline, but I'd hate for that to get caught in another storm or a battle with an enemy ship; for any weak point in the hull, especially one that big and noticeable, could easily spell disaster for the ship.

I gave an unheard-by-everyone-but-me amazed whistle at the sight.

How in the world are they gonna fix that?

"By God," Edward exclaimed to Adéwalé, "She took some knocks, didn't she?"

She sure did, though I wouldn't call that sort of damage a "knock" personally. I can remember the ship being fired at and the way it jolted and shuddered under the force of those cannonballs. We're lucky to still be floating as it is.

Still…

I have to admit the _El Dorado_ , despite its wooden structure, which I feared was easily breakable, is actually quite a tough ship.

Who knew?

"I think I'll keep her," Edward said to Adéwalé, his admiration for the ship echoing my own.

Then he turned around on his heel and resumed what I'll call "Captain Mode."

"All hands aft, Lads!" he called, returning to the wheel, "We're taking this one home!"

With a sigh of relief, I allowed myself to plop down on the stairs and checked the remaining time on the session.

Ugh…after all that, I'm still not finished…

It's funny how after spending two sessions bored to death, I just want this one to be over. A _drastic escape_ from the hold of an enemy ship, to freeing prisoners on the **other** enemy ships, to capturing and seizing an enemy ship, then escaping the fleet of enemy ships in a **hurricane** , and somehow _**surviving**_ the said hurricane…

Yeah, I think I've had about enough excitement for one session…

…Little did I know that it was not quite over yet…

Nor did I know the dramatic and unexpected events that would follow after that would change me…

Forever…


	22. Divulging Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About time I added this chapter

Here I am staring at my station, staring stupefied the Animus screen with my jaw hanging open…

What…the…hell just happened?!

In my mind, I tried to sort it…find some logical explanation of what just happened.

I kept going over and over the memory in my head…

But it…

It…

It's just not possible!

It started when Edward said, "Ade, take the wheel for me. I'll be right back."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm not exactly sure why Edward would want to just suddenly come up here to the crow's nest, but did he have to take the route I've decided to call "the sling shot route."

Any normal person would climb up the mast using the rope ladders (the term "Jacob's ladder" for El Dorado's ladders suddenly pops into my mind—where'd that come from?).

Not Edward.

What he does is grab this hook, and steps on this pedal which frees this weight hanging somewhere above our heads. As this weight comes screeching down, the hook Edward has hold of goes up, taking Edward—and by consequence me—up the mast so fast, I don't have time to think or do anything.

One second I'm on the deck…

The next, I'm standing in the crow's nest…

Let's just say when my sense came back to me, I found myself bear hugging Edward with no memory of how I got there.

I could literally feel the temperature in my cheeks rise up a few degrees and immediately released him and took a few…okay, a lot…steps away from him, walking through Jack—so this is where he's been all this time—as I did so.

Behind me, I could hear the two of them talking—something about keeping an eye out for something. But I was doing everything I can in my power to ignore them as I feel my cheeks go gradually warmer.

Ugh…

Why the heck am I embarrassed?

It's not like I grabbed the idiot on purpose or something! And besides, he doesn't even know I'm here so what's with the blushing?!

…

…Because it's the first time I "touched" a man, outside of Dad and my brothers, or when I strictly formally needed to (like handshakes for instance) or unless I was defending myself since Leo passed away at the MedStar Hospital when I was sixteen…

…Leo…

Hard to believe it's been five years since he died.

The memories and the pain are still fresh…because no sixteen year old girl would think her boyfriend would suddenly die like that.

The way he died…

You hear about this kind of death on the news…every school and after school program and awareness group warns you about it since you're old enough to understand…but until it actually happen in your life…

You don't really understand until it happens to someone you love…

And you can't prepare yourself for the pain that follows and, as it was in my case, the scrutiny and the harsh judgments that followed…

…

…

"Are you a poltergeist?" Edward suddenly asked, jerking my attention away from the memories.

Well, at least my cheeks don't feel warm anymore now …

What a strange thing to ask Jack, I thought. Of course he's not a poltergeist. What were they talking about while I was too busy being distracted by the sunset to bring up that sort of question?

But strange thing was…

When I looked over my shoulder, no one was up here but Edward.

"Huh," I said, looking right to left to see if Jack had move to another part of the platform, but still no one.

I looked back at Edward, still leaning causally against the post, "Who are you talking to?"

As if he could hear me, he answered, "You lass."

Lass?

There's a woman on board the ship? I don't recall there being any women among the—

Wait…

The only woman on board the ship was…

…

Me.

…

I looked hard at Edward…

The direction of his gaze indicates that he is looking…right…at…me…

"Are you a poltergeist?" Edward repeated his question.

Oh…

Oh!

I could feel my eyebrows crawl so far up my forehead that they must have touched my hairline.

He can see ME?! HEAR ME?!

This…this…this…

This wasn't supposed to be possible. 

But it was true.

Edward's eyes were locked onto me, focused right on my face as he waited—surprisingly patiently—for me to answer his question.

Okay, uh…

Focus on the question! Go with the flow, we'll figure out how this is possible later.

…

Okay. Think.

Poltergeist. Ghost? It means "ghost"? Yes? Of course. And in the eighteenth century mindset, ghosts equal supernatural.

And in the eighteenth century mindset…supernatural is bad.

Supernatural means evil.

…Which would make my position in this unexpected situation not very favorable. But I can't say I'm not a ghost, or a phantom, or whatever, because I really DO look like a ghost, even though I'm actually not. But I can't say I'm a sort of "projection" from the future, either. He wouldn't understand. In fact, he'd probably call ME loony.

So what should I do?

Well first, get rid of the tension! Tension is not the right foot to be on in a new and confusing situation.

I let out the loudest sigh I could muster, which allowed my shoulders to sag and relax, making it easier for my arms to cross more loosely.

"Apparently," I started, allowing my mouth to do the talking and not my head—you'd be surprised how well that works, "Not a very good one if you can see me."

It wasn't the answer he was looking for, but it did dispel some of the tension I could feel building up between us.

Well, it's something.

Edward used his shoulder to push himself out of his leaning posture as he pinched the bridge of his nose in a show of annoyance, probably in order to hide his confusion and uncertainty, which I could feel radiating off him in waves. "Jayseus lass! Would you just answer my question already?!"

I raised my arms up helplessly, "How do you answer a question when you don't know the answer?"

It was a genuine question and a true statement on my part. I couldn't figure out how any of this was possible. The Animus was meant to for its user to view the past, not interact with it.

"Heck, until a second ago, I didn't even know you COULD see me," I added, which brings up another question.

Exactly how long has he been able to see and/or hear me?

Edward let his hand drop and let it daggle uselessly at his side as he let out a loud sigh of annoyance and confusion. "Well I'm looking at you right now, aren't I, lass?"

That he was, and it's still mind-boggling confusing.

This was not supposed to happen.

Now we're both in positions that we've never expected to find ourselves in today.

Edward let out another sigh that was mixed with his mixed emotions as he tilted his head up a bit to look at the darkening sky instead of at me. "I must have had too much of the good stuff if I'm seeing ghosts of women," he said to the heavens.

Drink?

Well, I could say that he's in a drunken haze and I'm just one of his illusions, however…

He hasn't drank anything more than a few mouthfuls of alcohol since I first met him. And I know he hasn't had any since his capture at Havana and subsequent imprisonment on the Santa Isabel, followed his escape and the taking of this ship we're currently on.

That's the problem with having been at his side for about a week. The only time I wasn't was when I was the Animus session was over, but even then it was like I was only gone for a few hours when I returned. But I highly doubt in all that time that I've spent away from the Animus Edward had gotten anything to drink that wasn't water.

After all, who would give their pirate prisoners the good stuff?

"When did you last take a drink?"

Edward's head dropped to look back at him and he crossed his arms. "About ten minutes ago pretty lass."

Does he think I'm stupid?

I re-crossed my own arms in a show of annoyance. "Ten minutes ago you were steering this...brig, you called it? Through "Neptune's Teeth." And if you're going to say that you drank before coming on board don't. You're not drunk or hung over. And...pretty?"

I looked down at my skirt-covered legs, which were still grey and phantom-mist like.

Unless he finds ghost-women attractive—which I highly doubt he does—he must be playing with me.

I don't like being played with.

He walked over to me and stood right in front of me as if to loom over me. And considering he was about seven inches taller than me—I was only four foot, four inches, six inches with my heels on, so yeah I'm not the tallest woman there is—it was rather effective.

But I had to stand my ground, backing off would be a show of fear and fear would only give him an advantage, and I don't plan on giving up any of my ground.

He leans his face down to get closer to mine, "And how would you know what I am?" he said, not harshly, but firmly. It was a way to communicate that he wasn't going to take any bullshit. "Did my wife send you or something?"

Wife?

Did he mean the red-haired woman I saw in his dreams/memory back at the cape and then in the hold? The one whom he made a promise to, but he couldn't keep in the end?

"I have been stuck with you since the Cape Bonavista," I told him just as firmly.

"Ah, so Caroline did send you."

Okay, I wasn't expecting that. I thought he get the message that I haven't been with him very long and that nobody had sent me because nobody did.

Not from this time anyway.

Alright, new tactic.

"Who the hell is Caroline?" I asked, putting all the annoyance I felt from not receiving the answer I was expecting into my voice. Of course, I knew who Caroline was, but that wouldn't give me any advantages in this battle of wills I found myself in.

And that truly was what this was going on between us: us testing one another.

Edward's eyebrows pressed down, narrowing his eyes to make himself more threatening. "Caroline Scott-Kenway," he answered, his voice hardening, making himself more menacing, but I could feel it in his emotions that he was just acting, trying to get under my skin, "The woman who sent you to find me after all these years."

Although I'm not sure if he could see it since if the rest of my body looks like it's made of dense fog, then my face would logically be the same way, but still I raised an eyebrow and moved my body into a position to show that I wasn't falling for his theatrics. "...you're stuck on the idea that this "Caroline" sent me to you? How? Is she a witch?"

…okay, maybe calling someone's wife a witch isn't the smartest move, but I had to come up with something that would get him out of this mindset that his wife had anything to do with me being here.

It is bad enough that Edward now knows that I am here; I don't need to deal with anyone else knowing.

One is bad, two and over is a disaster.

But much to my surprise, instead of taking offense like most men should on behalf of their wives, Edward suddenly flashed his pearly white teeth at me in a grin.

I'm surprised his teeth were pearly white.

"So you are a ghost then," he said in a smug voice as if he had just won a major victory, "Thank you for telling me."

That…

That wasn't what I was expecting…

At all!

And now that smug bastard thinks he's won this little competition!

Well, we'll just see about that!

"Alright Mr. Know-it-All, since you seem to have all the answers here, answer me this," I started, then I threw my head back, "WHAT AM I DOING HERE?!"

My sudden shouting was effective in surprising him, the exact reaction I wanted. His surprise and shocked was enough to force his feet to take a few steps back, nearly ramming his left hip into the mast post. Good, he's lost the advantage of intimidation.

However, it would seem he is just as quick at adapting to situations as I am because he responded with a question I had never expected him to ask. "You tell me," he said, "What are you? This captain's dead mistress or something?"

That effectively left me speechless.

Captain's mistress?!

No way in high hell am I anyone's bitch! Especially not with this captain!

As my silence prolonged, another grin appeared on Edward's face, fewer teeth were showing, but it was just as smug as the one before. "No answer means I'm right."

Like hell you are!

But I had to show that I was in control. He could use my rage at being claimed as his mistress to his advantage.

But what could I use against him?

Wait…

Jack and some of the crew are still on the mast, aren't they?

I drop my head down to look down at the boards under my feet. Edward will no doubt take it as a sign of defeat, however in truth, I can see through the gaps in boards that Jack and some crew are indeed still on the mast, and they were throwing glances upward to the crow's nest.

And not to where I was standing.

Good. Found my advantage.

So I started chuckling, putting in a large hint of fanatic-ness into it to put him on alert if nothing else.

It worked because when next he spoke, I could detect wariness in his tone and caution in his emotions, "And what are you laughing at lass?"

I looked back up at him, my lips pulled up into a grin of their own. "Well wise guy, it seems you have two realities to choose from."

I straightened myself up and held up my pointer finger in a display of "Number One." "The first one being that a woman has come into your life in a very unconventional way, and she doesn't know why."

Which is the truth.

This whole thing is unconventional, and I don't know why it's happening or how it got to this point.

I flipped up my middle finger to join my pointer finger to display "Number Two": Time to unleash my secret weapon.

"The second one is that you're an insane person, and you're standing in the Crow's Nest right now talking to yourself."

That got him.

I watched as his mouth opened and closed several times, but I could see and feel it in his emotions that he had no idea how to react to that one. But he did take a few steps to the side in order to look passed the crow's nest to see the crew members still working the mast, who were no doubt looking up at him with a mixture of weariness and worry for their new Captain's mental health.

…speaking of such, he could try and use that to gain back some ground.

Not if I could help it.

Edward let out a chuckle of amusement as he turned to look back at me and took a step back from the edge of the platform. "Damn, you're good, lass," he said, but his voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, so only I could hear him.

I chuckled again, moving towards the mast post to lean against it in my own show of smug victory. "Sure, chalk it up with drunken fits and cabin fevers if you must," I said before he could get a chance to try one last attempt to outwit me, "Eventually, someone will get paranoid. Men can only follow a sick captain for so long before they decide to get rid of him to avoid spreading the disease to themselves." I let out a haughty sigh, "C'est la vie."

I didn't need to feel out his emotions this time. I could tell that he was impressed with me. I don't think anyone has challenged him like this before and bested him. Or if they have, it hasn't been recently.

Edward chuckled again, this time in pure amusement. He crossed his arms, but he was much more relaxed now.

He finally understands that I'm not here to cause him any intentional woe.

Good. That makes my life a lot easier now.

"What is your name?" he asked.

Right.

Introductions are in order.

However, I don't think I should tell him my full name or a fake name. He may not know it, but we're being recorded and I don't need Abstergo finding out about my true self.

Heck, I don't want to think what would happen when they see that Edward and I are able to interact.

The thoughts on what they could do with this advantage are too frightening to think about.

I'm gonna now have to go over all the footage before I leave work and find a way to cut out all interactions between Edward and me.

Abstergo and the Templars are doing enough damage in the present. We don't need them to damage the past beyond the records and history books as well.

"You may call me Kestrel."

I settled for telling him just my father's last name. And why not? It's a good name since it's named after the bird-of-prey species, the kestrel falcons. It's a strong name, just like my mother's, but it's more English-sounding then Takeuchi.

To my amusement, Edward did a little gentlemanly bow to me. "Edward Kenway."

"I know," I said, keeping the little laughter I felt in my chest from boiling over, "I've been stuck around you since Cape Bonavista remember?"

He smiled.

He actually does have a nice smile.

"Just wanted to be formal," he said, smile still on his face.

This time I let a few giggles escape me. "You? Formal?" I teased.

If anything, his smile widened. "I have my moments, lass."

This time I didn't stop the amused chuckles from escaping.

Clearly.

But his smile diminished, but he seemed thoughtful…he can be thoughtful? "So is this the fade to end or do we keep going?"

Weird choice of words, but I think he's asking if now that he can see me that I would now fade away.

Well…

It's a good question.

I don't think I will "fade away" as he put it. At least, not any time soon.

I mean, I'm only viewing—or perhaps I should now say, visiting—the past for a short amount of time. And I think now that there's actually a reason Abstergo is having me follow him around.

But what is that reason? And why?

I don't have any answers to give.

I leaned my body against the mast post a bit more and tilted my head back to look up towards the stars.

You don't see stars very well in the city.

They're amazing.

"I'll be sticking around for a while yet, Captain Kenway," I told him. It was the best answer I could give. "At least, until I know why..."

"Why have you been following me all this time?" he guessed.

I answered. "Yes."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I logged out not long afterwards…

Now here I am staring at the Animus screen with my jaw hanging open…

What…the…hell just happened?!

I did not just interact…no, I did not just play a game of WITS— and WON at that— with a dead guy?! And speak to a dead guy?!

Oh god…

This has to be a dream…a nightmare!

This isn't supposed to be true!

…

…

…

…

…

But not matter how much I wanted to deny it; call it dream or something…

I knew it wasn't…

Somehow…

I have made contact with the past…

And I have no idea how…

Only that I couldn't allow anyone to find out…

Without even fully realizing it, I found that my hands were typing away at the keyboard to bring up the footage I had just taken…

Even if I can't believe it, I know that I couldn't let this get out…

I wouldn't allow it…

…

…

…

…

…

WHAT—THE—HELL?!


End file.
